


Mistakes Are Better When They're French

by maraudersgirl47



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Angst, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Fluff, M/M, deviates majorly from the actual episode, mature scenes, spoilers for the rest of the season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersgirl47/pseuds/maraudersgirl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Number One: Dean would definitely never appear on a soap opera.<br/>Number Two: Dean Winchester did not wear makeup.<br/>And Number Three: He was not gay!<br/>God, Cas, whoever was listening - Please get them the hell out of here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Une

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a oneshot inspired by the gifset where Dean and Sam find Misha married to Jensen in the French Mistake. It turned into this multi chaptered saga about Destiel as well. Hope it's not too terrible.
> 
> ATTN: This begins set in the episode the French Mistake - therefore the use of real names (Misha, Jared, Jensen, etc.) have been used. If this is not your thing, then I suggest you turn back now. If it doesn't worry you, please continue and enjoy.
> 
> A/N: recently went through and fixed this story up a bit, just a few bits and pieces here and there. Hence the re-post.

That is it! Dean wanted out! And he wanted out now!

This was getting ridiculous. Well, it had been ridiculous in the first place, from the first resounding call of ‘CUT’ they’d heard around them. But now – now it was past preposterous.

Sam was full on smirking at him as he flipped around the laptop screen proving to Dean that his counterpart had in fact appeared on a soap opera. Dean didn’t even like anything close to a soap opera (and never mind what little brothers had the tendency to say, Doctor Sexy didn’t count dammit!). Weren’t their equivalent personas in this reality supposed to reflect their own?

 _A soap opera? Seriously?!_ This was no longer just strange, it was downright offensive.

Dean slammed the laptop shut before his brother could make any further comments.

“Don’t like this universe, Sammy. We need to get out of this universe.”

Of all the insane things the two of them had been put through – and it was a hell of a long list – this had to at least make top five. An alternate universe where their faces remained the same but their entire lives changed? Their actual lives being made into some two bit _television_ show.

Yeah, this definitely ranked as eccentric, even for them.

“Yeah. No argument here,” Sam responded evenly, “But I don’t think our – our prayers are reaching Cas.”

Neither of them had even managed to lay eyes on this universes version of Castiel, never mind their own. Dean was reluctant to even think about what kind of person they’d have portraying the Angel.

“Well, I agree. I think we are definitely out of, uh, soul-phone range. But…” Dean frowned looking around the trailer for a piece of paper.

“What?”

“If we can reverse Balthazar’s spell,” Dean snatched up a pen and notepad, “I watched every move.” Dean sketched the sigil Balthazar had constructed out quickly and flipped it around for Sam to see, “We just, get the ingredients, right, get back to the same window, and,” Dean breathed deeply, “There’s no place like home.”

-/-/-/-

It was a good plan. Dean knew that. And it was not his fault that everything was fake.

The two of them were rummaging through Bobby’s desk – No, it wasn’t Bobby’s desk, it was a goddamn film set! All of it was phony. Everything from the rubber backbone to the prop daggers and knives that were about as useful a weapon as a toy.

All the equipment that surrounded them, though it looked undoubtedly familiar, it was utterly useless.

Sam and Dean both trudged out of the studio disgruntled. Having no immediate access to the ingredients required to replicate Balthazar’s spell really made it difficult to duplicate the process.

Dean almost lost it again as a crewmember all but dragged him out of _his baby_ when he tried to drive away. But that was the same thing again, it wasn’t _his_ baby, his Impala, it was some prop that was being smothered in mud of all things.

Dean slammed the car door shut forcefully, “How the hell are we supposed to get out of here?”

The answer to Dean’s question was in the form of a man who apparently was at their disposal to drive them wherever they pleased. Dean had already forgotten his name, Clem? Kyle? He didn’t know, nor care anymore. Dean leaned heavily into the backseat of the SUV and clamped his eyes shut tightly. Maybe if he focused enough he’d realize he was dreaming and manage to wake up safe and sound in some random motel room.

No such luck came as Sam’s voice washed over him as he spoke with the driver, “You know whereabouts you want me to drop you off Jared?”

“Uh, yeah, Clint.”

“Clif.” Clif! That was it!

“Yeah, yeah of course, obviously,” Sam rushed over his words, “I’ll just tag along with Jensen here.” He clapped Dean firmly on the shoulder.

Clif raised his eyebrows at them in the rear view mirror, “Since when are you guys talking?”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look as Sam continued to stutter out, “Yeah, well, we’re just gonna go back to his place and, you know, do some work.”

“Work on our acting,” Dean chipped in.

“Yeah.”

“For our characters. For the show.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed again, throwing a look across to his brother clearly trying to indicate that he really wasn’t helping.

“Alright,” their driver responded sceptically.

The rest of the drive was held in relative silence. Dean visibly cringed when he finally spotted a sign that had directions plastered across it. Vancouver. Canada? Really? They weren’t even in _America_ anymore.

Dean was surprised when their driver, _Clif_ , pulled up along the curb of a regular looking suburban street. Dean peered out his window at the house they were positioned alongside. It didn’t look like much, but it had a homely vibe to it.

Sam had to nudge him to get him moving out the door. They both muttered their thanks as they left the black car and traipsed up the driveway. The path was lined with well-kept rows of shrubs that bordered a neatly cut slopping lawn; Dean couldn’t imagine himself ever putting that much effort into a garden.

Dean had to scrounge through a bag he took from Jensen’s trailer to find a ring of keys, trying almost all of them until he found the correct one to open the front door. Anyone watching them would probably think they were trying to break into someone else’s home. Dean figured it would have been quicker to just pick the lock.

The inside of the house was much like the outside. It felt like a home. Nothing overly flashy stood out, though it had modern furnishings. It wasn’t overly tidy, but still well kept. A stack of what was probably mail lay unsorted on the kitchen table, a couple of bowls and glasses still sat unclean in the sink.

Dean figured, _maybe,_ he could have lived in a home such as this. There were a couple more eclectic items here and there that Dean wasn’t even aware the function of, but the place wasn’t _overly_ terrible. The biggest surprise was the jet black kitten curled contently on a corner of the couch, purring lightly in its sleep.

“Dean, dude, you have a cat! You’re allergic to cats.”

“Shut up, man.” Dean mumbled. If a small cat was the worst thing here, he was sure they could deal with it for one night while they tried to figure this out.

“So you think you have a laptop somewhere?” Sam asked, glancing around the lounge room. There was a flat screen and sound system in one corner, a large collection of movies lining the wall next to it. A fireplace was built into the centre wall, a stack of neatly cut wood nearby ready to go. But no computer in sight.

“Maybe, who knows where though,” Dean spared a glance to look, before casually going over to peek at the movie compilation.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s easy distraction.

Both men froze when they heard someone fumbling at the front door. They shared a look at the obvious sound of keys turning in a lock. A light breeze swept through the room as the front door opened, a soft whistling tune following soon after.

“So I guess you don’t live alone,” Sam mumbled, as they waited for the house’s newest occupant to come and find them.

“Jen? You home?” A distinctly male tone sounded through the walls.

Sam motioned that Dean should respond but he was having a difficult enough time focusing on the fact that he apparently lived with a _dude?_

Dean and Sam were still arguing silently when the guy rounded the corner.

“Cas?!” Sam’s instinctual reaction was immediate, the name slipping out before he could stop it.

‘Cas’ rolled his eyes, “Ah yes, Jared, cause that one _never_ gets old.”

Dean couldn’t help his mouth falling open. Cas was in front of them, but he wasn’t – because that was so not _Cas._

The man who stood before them _looked_ like Cas, from the messy dark hair, to his blue eyes and slightly stubbled jaw. But everything else seemed just, entirely, _off_. He was wearing a dark blue unzipped sweater, a lighter blue shirt underneath, over a pair of well-worn jeans. No holy tax accountant get up in sight. His stance was different, the set of his shoulders not so square and the crease to his brow not so stern. Even the armful of goods he carried didn’t make sense; the few bags no doubt filled with groceries in one hand and a bunch of bright flowers in the other.

Dean’s eyes had zeroed in on the cluster of flowers and his brain seemed to have lost its main functioning capabilities.

“Don’t get prissy Jen, I know how much you don’t like flowers, they’re not for _you_.” His voice was different too; higher than Cas’, less like the man had been gargling with rocks his whole life, a more natural tone.

The man in front of them strode forward casually towards Dean, leaning up the slightest amount needed when he reached him, and with such an ease placed a peck of a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Dean felt his face flame red.

It might have been seconds or minutes before Dean registered Sam tugging at the sleeve of his jacket; he glanced across at him in panic, following his line of sight to a picture frame centred on the mantle of the fireplace.

It held a photo of him and Cas – No, not _him and Cas,_ it was this Jensen guy and whoever that person was standing opposite them unknowingly wearing Cas’ face. They had their arms wrapped firmly around one another, leaning into each other’s weight as they grinned at the camera, hands grasped tightly together being held up to prominently show off _rings._

“Dude! I married fake Cas?!”

“Actually it’s Misha, just in case you chose not to read the marriage license when you signed it.”

Dean’s mouth dropped back open, “Misha?” The disbelieving attitude fell out before he could stop it.

“As always, you’re both comedic geniuses.” _Misha_ said before turning on his heel and striding for the kitchen.

Sam and Dean heard him dump his parcels onto the bench before heading back toward them. Dean looked over at his brother still in a panic, what the hell was going on? Alternate universe just seemed to try and jump a few steps on the crazy ladder and reach straight for insanity. For Christ sake, he _married_ fake _Castiel!_

And Dean’s swirling turmoil was most certainly not being helped when his brother looked like he was trying everything he had not to burst into laughter.

Misha sauntered back into the lounge room with ease, scooping up the little bundle of fur that had remained curled on the couch as he passed. Misha let his eyes roam pointedly over Sam’s frame and any smirk Sam had been sporting slid away.

“So the two of you are over your little spat then?”

Sam and Dean exchanged another look, bluffing their way through this just became so much harder. “Yeah,” Dean shrugged, “Totally, it’s forgotten and all that.”

Misha fixed his stare onto Dean; Dean figured at least he had that soul gazing thing down. Misha flicked his eyes back over to Sam once he seemed satisfied. “So you staying for dinner Jared? I’m sure I could cook for three.”

“Ah, if it’s no trouble?” Sam managed to get out, shrugging over at Dean when Misha wasn’t paying attention.

“Course,” Misha nodded, “You okay Jen? You seem a bit out of it.”

Dean snapped his mouth closed from where he’d been blindly watching Misha run his fingers around the kittens ear and tried to pull his mind back into ‘faking it’. “Yeah, of course. Long day, you know? Acting and stuff.” He was doing his best to try and ignore the tingling feeling he still felt on the side of his face where Misha had brushed his lips.

Misha let the first hints of a genuine smile linger across his mouth, “Did the two of you forget to go and change after the shoot? Or have you gone back to raiding the wardrobe trailers. I swear they’re going to have to do more than put a padlock on those doors.”

Dean tried to smile back at the obvious joke that he didn’t quite understand, but was sure the action came off as more of a grimace. He was certain Misha was about to repeat if there was anything the matter with him but was saved the trouble as a phone started ringing. Dean turned to see his brother fumbling a fancy mobile, that certainly wasn’t his, out of his pocket and swiping to answer the incessant ringtone.

Misha nodded his head towards the kitchen for Dean to follow him, no doubt to give ‘Jared’ privacy for his phone call. Sam shot him a shrug, as if to say ‘just play along’, before turning his full attention to the voice down the line.

Dean followed Misha into the kitchen, watching cautiously as the other man started unloading the few bags of groceries.

“What happened to ‘Jared is an asshole and I’m never going to speak to him again’?” Misha asked. Apparently he wasn’t the type of guy who messed around with small talk. Although they were _married,_ maybe this was just the way _married_ people spoke.

Dean cleared his throat, “I was being stupid. Overreacting.” He stepped forward, feeling something akin to guilt that he wasn’t helping unpack. Although he stopped himself before he started; it might look slightly strange if he didn’t know where anything lived in his own kitchen.

Dean felt a hand rest gently on his forearm, his eyes snapping up to see blue ones staring at him closely, filled to the brim with concern, “You sure you’re okay Jensen?”

Dean nodded, any words he could think of sticking in his throat.

Sam cleared his throat from behind them and Dean hastily moved away from Misha’s warm hand.

“Afraid I’m gonna have to skip dinner,” Sam stated.

Dean turned to him swiftly, “What? Where are you going?”

“That was, ah, Genevieve. I’m needed at home. Apparently.” Misha seemed unfazed by the comment but Dean could clearly read the panic in Sam’s wide eyes. “She’s on her way to pick me up?” Sam finished more as a question than the statement it should have been. Who even knew who it was that was coming to lay claim to Sam. Great, just another obstacle they had to work their way around with the whole getting back to their own universe problem.

As far as Dean could tell they were well on their way to becoming royally screwed. They were supposed to be some hot shot actors who lived in _Canada_ of all places, when they didn’t know the first thing about acting or the lives that they supposedly lived. Now Sammy was about to walk out the door and leave him stranded with his theoretical _husband_ , who looked like Cas but that seemed to be as far as the comparison went.

Sam gave him the best ‘we can do this’ look he could muster before a horn sounded from outside beckoning him to face his fate.

Sure, they could do this. They were the Winchester’s, they could do anything. What was an alternate universe to the boys who knew how to navigate Hell?

It would be simple, right?

Once Sam disappeared through the front door Dean felt an arm sneak across his lower back, a hand hooking on his hip, curling around his waist to draw him closer.

Dean only knew one thing for sure; when they got back home – and they would – he was going to find Balthazar, and he was going to murder that stupid meddling sunnofa bitch.


	2. Deux

Dinner was awkward. Well, Dean felt awkward, Misha seemed content.

Dean was having enough trouble focusing on the continuous prattle streaming out of Misha’s mouth even before he had to factor in that he was having difficulties comprehending any version of Cas being the one to cook him a meal and help him devour it. And then he was expected to make conversation in return? If he was being honest, it could have gone better.

“You sure you don’t want any more Jen?” Misha asked slyly, “When I make stir-fry you generally leave nothing in the pot.”

Dean smiled as best he could around his last mouthful, “Na, I’m good man. God, that was delicious though.”

And it _was_ delicious. Misha was an excellent cook. Dean had developed the feeling that Misha was the type of person who was good at everything they tried, someone who could accomplish anything.

Misha grinned over at him as he began to clear their plates away. “I’ll help,” Dean said automatically, starting to rise to his feet.

Misha placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly seated him back in his chair, “Don’t be stupid. You’ve been working all day. It was a long shoot – one of the longer ones they’ve had in a while,” Misha grinned, “And I got out of it.” He gave a cheeky wink before turning away to continue his task.

Dean couldn’t help but smile at his retreating back.

He _knew_ the person with him right now wasn’t Cas. Had no connection to Cas at all really. Hell, he shouldn’t even be sitting at this table. Pretending to be someone else, even if they looked identical to you, it was all levels of wrong.

But there was something in the way that Misha smiled, something in the electric tone of his voice that drew Dean in. Something that caused Dean to laugh along at the outlandish exclamations that he made. It drew him in such a way that just for a moment he could imagine this life was his. The proper job, with his name in lights, coming home to someone who accepted him for nothing more than what he was.

It was something different for sure, but it wasn’t necessarily _bad_ different.

It wasn’t until Misha resumed his seat at the table, leaning over towards Dean, and placing his hand on his knee and squeezing, that Dean remembered he wasn’t sitting at a table with someone who was just his best friend. He was there with someone who thought he was his husband, and by immediate extension, his lover.

Dean instantly shot to the air, Misha’s hand sliding off at the movement. “Let’s watch something,” Dean blurted in his attempt to keep Misha’s mind off anything he might have had lurking around up there.

Dean made his way into the lounge room and wandered over to the extensive range of movies, trying to keep his actions calm and sure as if this was something he did every day. He pulled out a couple of titles he knew half-heartedly before the feeling of being watched made the back of his neck prickle.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Misha leaning in the doorframe, arms loosely crossed over his chest and a hint of a smile still lingering around his features.

“What’s up with you, Jen?” Dean opened his mouth to repeat his excuses of nothing but Misha didn’t allow him the chance, “You’ve been acting weird since you got home. Was it something Jared did?”

Dean shook his head, “Na, man, it’s nothing like that.”

“That’s another thing, what’s with this ‘man’, what happened to Mish?”

Dean rolled his eyes, how was he supposed to know what Jensen called his husband, “Sorry. Mish. Honestly, nothing’s wrong. Just a -”

“Long day,” Misha finished the sentence for him and nodded, “Okay, pick a film.”

Dean turned back towards his options, choosing to think of the new glint in Misha’s eye as his own victory instead of anything untoward Misha could be planning.

Relenting, Dean finally plucked Star Wars Episode Four off the shelf, figuring there could not possibly be any universe in which he didn’t appreciate Solo. He tried to act as if this was normal for him, sliding into the space Misha had pointedly made on the couch beside him, willing his muscles to relax as arms twined around his waist to hold him close.

Barely ten minutes into the film Dean first felt the deliberate press of fingers rolling in small circles near his hip. He kept his eyes resolutely focused on the screen and did all he could to pay the soothing sensation no attention.

Misha was sly when it came to getting something he wanted, that much was certain about the man. But Dean held his resolve strong, it didn’t matter how much Misha wanted to get into his husbands pants tonight, it wouldn’t be happening. Mostly because his husband was actually god knows where, doing god knows what; although if he was in Dean’s reality the most likely scenario was that he was busy fighting for his life.

It didn’t matter that Misha’s long fingers seemed exceptionally skilled in this area also, the patterns he was tracing becoming increasingly enticing. Dean ignored the thrum of guilt he felt upon realizing that curling up and watching a movie with Cas’ look alike was in no way helping get them back to their own universe. Hopefully Sammy was having more luck wherever he was and Whoa! Wait a minute! When the Hell had those fingers transferred to the skin _under_ his waistband?

Dean jerked away on instinct. Turning to greet Misha’s innocently raised eyebrows, “What?”

“Mish,” Dean began through gritted teeth, “I’m not in the mood.” He refused to dwell on the thought that if Misha continued feeling him up it would probably put him in the mood very easily.

“Fine, fine, okay. I get it,” Misha said, raising his hands in surrender, “I’ll stop.”

Dean nodded, before sinking back into Misha’s side.

It was another handful of minutes and Misha’s hand was absently twirling patterns into his skin again, when he grew confident enough to reach under the band of his jeans this time, Dean shifted but didn’t stop him. It wasn’t until Dean felt the solid press of lips against the side of his neck that he pulled away.

Misha’s face didn’t show false shock this time round, he looked genuinely worried, his eyes clouding over and a frown pinching between his eyes.

The look reminded Dean of Cas and he glanced away.

Maybe some nights Jensen played hard to get, but this was clearly too far out of character. It could have been possible to shake off Dean’s silence as simple brooding after a long day of pretending to be someone else. It’s easy to shrug off a couple of odd comments here and there and blame it on, what was that thing actors called it? Character bleed?

But even then there had to be limits – Limits Dean had apparently crossed.

Dean took a deep breath. Who’d he been kidding? Had he really thought Misha wasn’t bright enough to realize when something was wrong with his husband.

He turned to face the blue eyed man scrutinizing him closely on the couch, he sighed again, and braced himself for the onslaught. “I can’t do this,” Dean began softly.

“I was getting that memo, Jen,” Misha replied, an edge of defensive steel beginning to line his tone, “Mind explaining to me why?”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

Misha raised his eyebrows, “Right,” He paused, “So you’re not Jensen Ackles. The man who stole my heart, my mind, my soul when I fell in love with him. The man who whisked my away to some beach so we could be joined in holy matrimony?” Misha’s tone had turned to one of humour. He clearly believed he was currently the centre of a joke and needed to get his own back in return.

Dean went with it anyway, “Yes.”

“What?”

“You’re right, I’m not that person.”

Misha removed his hand from Dean’s waist in frustration, “So who the hell are you then?”

“Dean Winchester.”

Misha nodded, clear concentration lining his face, it took a while for him to respond, “Jen, is this your way of telling me you wanna role play? Cause I thought you said you didn’t want to go there with that.”

“What, no!” Dean responded quickly, “I’m being serious.”

“Serious about what? That you think you’re ‘Dean Winchester’ now?” Misha chuckled, “I may be thick when it comes to you Jensen, but I’m not that thick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “My name isn’t Jensen. I am Dean Winchester. I was born in Lawrence Kansas and I have a younger brother named Sam and we travel around hunting monsters that most of the world don’t know exist. I could sit here and recite my life’s story for you, but you know most of it. Me and Sam were transported here from our universe by the Angel Balthazar to keep something safe from Raphael in an attempt to help _Castiel_ , the Angel you _play_ on a television show.”

Misha sat staring at him for awhile, the pinched look back to his face, “So you’re telling me you’ve had a psychotic break?”

Dean groaned, turning away he leaned over to rest his head in his hands.

Maybe this wasn’t his best idea. Now Misha just thought he was crazy. Great. Swell plan Dean, real top notch.

Dean felt Misha place a hand in the centre of his back, rubbing slow circles through the fabric of his shirt. “Jen, if you really don’t wanna have sex tonight, that’s fine. You don’t need to go inventing stories. Just tell me, you know that.”

Misha’s words did the opposite of placate him. Frustration welled up inside of him and he sat up straighter, Misha’s hand sliding off as he did. “I’m not making this up!”

“I know you think of _me_ as your own little angel Jen, but you know you don’t have to be Dean for that to be relevant.”

Dean growled low in the back of his throat. Maybe Misha wasn’t as great as he had been giving him credit for.

Misha leaned back at the sound, his face now contorted between disbelief and a flare of anger, “Right then, I’ll bite. You’re _really_ Dean Winchester, and you were magically transported here by an _Angel_. Prove it.”

Dean’s face fell. Proof. He didn’t have any evidence. He was currently stuck in a world where ‘magic’ didn’t exist, how was he supposed to conjure up something that could possibly count as proof?

Dean was about to admit defeat to the smug look on Misha’s face, laugh whole heartedly and pretend that he really was Jensen, just playing a prank on Misha for the fun of it.

But then he thought of it. Oh so simple, but completely solid, bona fide verification!

Dean stood up swiftly, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and beginning to pull it over his head.

“You strip for me on a fairly regular basis Jensen. I don’t think it counts.”

Dean didn’t respond, yanking his shirt the rest of the way off and dumping it on the couch. He stood facing Misha, allowing blue eyes to roam completely over his torso.

“So? You didn’t get makeup to remove the temporary tattoo today?”

Dean sighed, “It’s not temporary.” Dean scratched his nails harshly over the ink, showing it didn’t fade.

Misha’s face only faltered minimally. Dean figured he could give him this one. A tattoo was easy enough to replicate, something that Jensen could even go out and get done to himself, it was something still within the realm of possibility. Dean hadn’t been banking on his tattoo to be the deal breaker anyway, not with someone as stubborn as Misha.

A tattoo could be faked. But this next one was different. The next one was concrete; literally one of a kind. No amount of makeup or counterfeit would ever be able to come _close_.

Dean held his smirk at bay as he turned to the side. Giving Misha a direct line of sight to his shoulder. And more importantly, the mark that was unmistakably burned into his skin.

Misha’s eyes went saucer wide. Dean figured the dark haired man would have jumped to his feet had he still possessed the capability to move.

“But that’s not – that’s -”

“That’s where the Angel, _Castiel_ , marked my body and soul after he pulled me outta Hell.” Misha remained seated, gaping up at the man above him, “It’s the point where Cas’ grace bound me back together. Sealing me back inside my body so I could be resurrected from the pit.”

Misha finally regained some sense and managed to scramble to his feet, pushing himself away from the couch, “You – you’re – you –”

“I am Dean Winchester. And this is where Cas gripped me tight and raised me from perdition.”

Well, you can’t fake _that_.


	3. Trois

Misha remained silent for a long time. The kitten that clearly belonged to him had made its way into its master’s lap and Misha was stroking it absentmindedly behind an ear, he’d collapsed back onto the couch, leaning heavily back into the cushions and hadn’t moved since.

Dean allowed the other man time to process. Clearly the distorting truth he’d just bared would take some time to sink in. Suppose it wasn’t every day that a clone of your husband drops by to tell you the television show you star in is a full blown reality just a couple of universes over.

Dean isn’t sure what amount of time is deemed appropriate for this sort of thing. He’s not sure whether he should be doing something, talking maybe? Trying to comfort Misha? He’s just sort of sitting there, watching him – he can practically see thoughts as they flit in and out from behind Misha’s eyes.

Dean is saved from having to break the dense silence on his own, Misha eventually cracking with a comment that was nowhere on Dean’s list of possible ways the conversation would turn next.

“I still think we should have sex.”

Dean allowed the remark a moment to stew before he spluttered out a response, “What?”

“Well it’s not technically cheating, right? I mean, you and Jensen share the same soul or whatever just in parallel dimensions. So, yes, I think you should still let me fuck you.”

Dean rolled his eyes in an attempt to hide his distress; he had to have been saddled with the only person who would find logic in something like that. “Nobody is fucking anybody,” Dean stated firmly.

Misha pouted like a petulant child, “Why not?”

“The list is hefty. But reason number one, I’m not gay.”

Dean glared as Misha snorted, “Really, you’re still spinning that one?”

“I’m not ‘spinning’ anything.”

It was Misha’s turn to roll his eyes, “Sure. So you’ve never once been faced with _Cas_ in all his angelic glory and wondered to yourself what it would feel like to strip him bare of that ridiculous coat and ravish him?”

The blush that tainted Dean’s face spread from the trips of his ears all the way down the back of his neck, “And what would give you that idea?”

Misha chuckled, “I recall Jensen saying something of the sort when he originally tried to seduce me.”

“Jensen was the one pursuing you?” Dean asked with the barest hint of a sneer.

Misha straightened himself in his chair, “I’ll have you know I’m highly pursuable.”

Misha’s face dropped as he resumed a pensive state, thoughts clearly swirling off on another tangent. Dean nudged at his knee, curious to find out what was running rampant around his mind. “Just Castiel. He’s actually real. I mean, he’s an _Angel_ and he’s really out there.”

“In all his glory,” Dean smirked.

Misha pushed their knees back together where Dean had bumped him, seeming to need the contact as he looked up into Dean’s very familiar green eyes, “Where is Jensen?” Misha’s voice was the smallest Dean had yet heard it, and the fragility that came with it was disturbing.

Dean didn’t want to merely shrug at the weighted question, but he didn’t know where to start looking for positive answers. “I honestly don’t know. I’d guess that him and Jared were swapped straight over for the two of us?” Misha’s eyes widened at the thought, and the evident fear had Dean reaching over instinctively. He clutched at Misha’s hand, as comforting as he could, “Even if that’s it, I can assure you completely, Cas would keep them safe.”

Misha could only nod, unwanted thoughts picking at his mind of Jensen in danger. Silence fell between the two of them as Misha’s eyes slipped out of focus once more and his mind trailed off. Dean waited, feeling a certain amount of relief as he watched the panic behind Misha’s gaze slowly fade and be replaced with the usual spark that shone there.

“So what do you say Dean?” Misha leaned forward to place the bundle of fur he was still holding on the ground, and it scampered off with a spring to its pounce. Dean raised his brow, waiting, “Wanna know how bad you’ve been missing it?”

Dean didn’t even have time to shake his head properly before Misha used the grasp he still had on his hand to yank him forward and press their lips together.

A million stimuli exploded through Dean’s mind.

The feel of Misha’s chapped lips working his open with determined force. The grip Misha managed to secure at the base of his neck, holding him in place. The fact that his hands seemed to have disregarded any previous commands he had given them and fisted themselves in the front of Misha’s shirt. The stubble that was rubbing roughly against the hints of his own. How absolutely friggin’ awesome it all felt.

Dean opened his mouth to Misha’s probing tongue with ease, allowing the insistent muscle time to explore. Dean wondered vaguely if his was the same as Jensen’s. As Dean worked his tongue around Misha’s, swiping it across the roof of Misha’s mouth and grazing against the back of his teeth, his curiosity lingered on how similar Cas and Misha would truly be.

They broke away to catch their breath. Neither moving more than an inch apart, each content to share the others air. Dean smiled warily over at Misha and the doubts that were threatening to plague his senses obliterated themselves to nothing under the shinning grin Misha returned.

Misha drew Dean back in slowly, hesitantly watching to see if Dean would protest, he sighed deeply when the Winchester allowed their tongues to slide together. This time Dean didn’t hold back the groan that welled its way up inside of him. Misha may not be Cas, but he goddamn looked like him, and this might be the closest Dean would ever get to the real deal. He wasn’t about to give it up.

Dean grasped the collar of Misha’s shirt and dragged their bodies together harshly. Misha grunted at the sudden solid contact, but Dean could feel the grin breaking out over his lips. With the firm grip Dean retained on Misha’s collar he hoisted him up, preventing their mouths from disconnecting as they both stumbled to their feet.

Dean didn’t attempt to cease his hips as they developed their own small rut against Misha’s, the pressure sliding right where he wanted it. It was Misha’s turn to groan as the man against him, feeling so comparable to Jensen but acting wholly dissimilar began to short circuit his higher brain functioning.

“So, the bedroom then?” Misha smirked between his words.

Dean couldn’t fathom the vitality to care that Misha had gained his way in the end. The thrilling sensations flowing through him merely making Dean wish he had of given in sooner. Dean nodded, pushing at Misha’s shoulders, making the slightly shorter man walk backwards in the general direction of the hallway.

Misha led Dean up the stairs slowly. The trip taking four times longer than necessary since neither of them could keep their hands off the other, both taking it in turns to back each other against the wall, or the railing, and continue pushing their tongues as far as physically possible into the other’s mouth.

Dean spared the barest glance for the room Misha dragged him into. It was like the rest of the house; simple, Misha and Jensen’s personalities clearly clashing at the corners, perfect.

Misha had Dean down on the bed with ease. Sprawling over the top of him quite happily, licking and sucking his way along Dean’s jaw with apparent expertise.  
It wasn’t until Dean felt the drag of Misha’s hard erection against his own that he heaved himself away.

Dean took a moment to catch his breath as Cas’ look alike gazed down at him from above. Blue eyes sparkling and a smirk lingering around his spit slick lips.

Misha rolled his hips pointedly down into Dean’s, his smirk growing wider as Dean bucked up instinctively at the pressure, “You’re not about to have another ‘I’m not gay’ freak out on me, are you?” The cocky edge to Misha’s tone helped make it easier for Dean to put the man above him and Cas into two very separate corners of his mind.

Dean could see Misha calculating his reactions. Weighing up how many more of his mastered persuasive skills he was going to need to ensure Dean fully believed that this was a wonderful idea.

Misha sighed gently, leaning down slowly he pressed a chaste kiss to Dean’s lips before sitting back on his haunches; giving Dean room to breathe.

“I’m not Castiel, Dean.” Misha said gently, “I can tell that’s what you want out of this, but you know I’m not him.”

Dean began to protest, “I never said that’s what I wanted!”

“You don’t need to dumbass.” Misha chuckled, “I may not be Cas but that doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I know you inside and out. You may look around this world and think you and Jen have no more than a face in common, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Misha sighed again as he ran his strong hands up Dean’s thigh’s soothingly, “I’m not gonna lie about it Dean Winchester, I really want to fuck you. I think we should do this. And when you get back home you can finally come to terms with whatever messed up crap you have rolling around in your head for your Angel and sort it out with him. But for tonight, you gotta focus,  _I’m_  not Cas.”

Dean let his eyes slip closed as he allowed himself to enjoy Misha’s ministrations, deft fingers trailing along his jean clad thighs, just the right amount of pressure to have his skin itching for more. Dean breathed deeply. How was it that a man he’d never met before had him completely figured out? Could say a few small words and have his mind sorted. How was it that everything about Misha made perfect sense to him?

A small laugh slipped out of Dean at that thought; Misha making  _sense_ , he reasoned not a lot of people ever thought that.

Misha stilled his hands as Dean looked back up at him, “What’s so amusing?” Misha asked, a frown back between his eyes, the look not quite extending to his mouth.

Dean smiled, “You. All of this. I’m in an alternate dimension for Christ sake.”

Misha nodded, “That’s true.” Leaning down he pressed his lips lightly to Dean’s jaw, “You’re having a very strange day.” Another kiss, further along, “This probably doesn’t even count as  _anything_.” He rubbed his hand over the prominent bulge at the front of Dean’s jeans, as he sealed his mouth over Dean’s gasp, applying soft pressure until Dean was squirming beneath him.

Dean grinned like a predator up at the man above him, “I think your seduction skills need some work.” Misha pouted. “But you’re right about most of it.” Misha grinned, the gesture only faltering minimally as Dean smirked, “Except about who’s going to be fucking who.”

Dean reached forward to grab Misha around the waist, twisting them swiftly so that Misha was thrown onto his back, Dean securely straddling his thighs.

Misha joked, “Boy, I love it when you take control like that,” his laughter sweeping over them.

Dean grinned, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Dean took over this time, leaning down he clamped his lips over Misha’s, working his tongue in hungrily. Misha groaned as Dean pressed down against him, fisting his hands into Dean’s t shirt and dragging him close.

Dean moved his lips to run along Misha’s jaw and neck; the stubble under them was definitely new, but he wasn’t complaining. Blindly Dean began to fumble with the buttons on Misha’s shirt, slowly popping them open one by one.

Misha seemed to have grown past taking their time. He pushed Dean back enough so he could sit up, ripping his own shirt the rest of the way off, and yanking Dean’s tee over his head. Misha boldly ran his hands over Dean’s torso, lightly grasping at his well-toned abdomen, and tracing graceful fingers over the ink adorning Dean's collarbone.

Dean didn’t remain motionless, but he couldn’t settle on where he wanted his hands most. They roamed rapidly over Misha’s tanned chest, his back, his shoulders, tracing his collarbones, twirling around his neck, fisting in his messy hair only to repeat the trail.

When Misha broke his lips away from Dean’s, Dean was in half a mind to start complaining, until the dark haired man fastened them firmly over his collarbone instead, sucking a path until he reached his tattoo and licked a stripe over it.

“I like this,” Misha said, tapping his fingers lightly to the ink, “It’s sexy.”

Dean didn’t have a chance to respond before Misha’s fingers were deftly at his belt buckle, unhooking and unzipping his pants. Dean manoeuvred himself away from Misha’s limbs long enough so he could stand next to the bed, shucking his jeans the rest of the way off without the hindrance of grasping fingers.

Misha took the opportunity of free hands to dispense of his own clothes. Dean shouldn’t have been surprised that Misha was one to go commando and had one less item of attire to rid himself of, but Dean still chuckled.

Dean paused before he pushed his boxers down. He allowed his eyes time to trail over Misha’s now fully exposed body, still wondering vaguely if Cas would look completely the same. Any differences found would definitely exist in the motions and not the figure. Dean watched as Misha unabashedly slid himself to sit on the edge of the bed facing him, Misha crooked his head just faintly in a motion for Dean to walk back over.

Dean tried to hide his hesitance as he stood between Misha’s legs. Gazing down, with what he hoped was only confidence in his eyes, at the naked man below him who had started toying with the waistband of his boxers.

Misha ran his hands up and down Dean’s sides a couple of times before he drew him the last few inches closer. Boldly Misha leaned his head forward and nudged his plump lips at Dean’s still covered, but obvious, erection. 

Dean tried not to gasp at the sensation, Misha assertively holding him in place as he mouthed at the hard cock before him. Dean fisted his hands back into Misha’s hair, keeping him close. Misha only spared the briefest glance to Dean’s face before he dragged Dean’s boxers down, leaving him completely bare.

Dean caught only a glimpse of Misha’s grin before his eyes rolled back into his head. Misha had taken him almost to the hilt in one quick motion, leaving Dean close to breathless as he felt Misha swallow and the tip of his cock bump the back of his throat.

Misha took his time; moving up and down around Dean’s shaft, hollowing his cheeks when he knew it would be best, pulling back and licking out at the slit in between breaths, a hand sneaking back around to rub over his balls in sync with his other motions.

Dean could do little more than grasp at the hair slipping through his fingers as Misha worked on him. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him the perfect shape of Cas’,  _Misha’s,_  mouth, and by God did Misha know how to use it.

Dean’s knees were growing weak by the time Misha pulled away, making an obscene pop of his lips as he raised his smug gaze to Dean’s away from Dean’s throbbing cock, “Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to make good on your promise?” Misha drawled.

“Promise?” Dean’s voice cracked on the single word.

Misha smirked, “Thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

Dean nodded; a strict determination burning through his veins at Misha’s teasing tone.

Dean unfastened his hands from Misha’s hair and moved them to his shoulders. With more force than probably necessary he manoeuvred the smirking man onto his back, spreading him out over the centre of the bed.

Misha moaned as Dean pressed his lips at intervals messily across his chest, working his way back up to Misha’s reddened mouth. “I’ve never done this before,” Dean muttered around Misha’s persevering tongue, “With a guy.”

Dean didn’t stop languidly running his tongue over him as Misha responded, “You’ll be fine. I promise.” Misha chuckled, “I have complete faith in you Dean Winchester.”

Dean didn’t rush as he grasped Misha’s cock firmly. He slowly dragged his palm up and down, smearing the pre cum around to ease his way. Doing this to another guy felt completely different to working on himself, but with Misha beginning to writhe underneath him, he figured he must be doing something right.

“Lube, top draw,” were the only words that made it out of Misha’s mouth before he slammed his lips back into Dean’s, a hunger present in his movements that had been lacking until now. His hands grasping at any part of Dean they could reach and still attempting to drag him closer.

Dean slicked both his fingers and his cock in the substance, ignoring the coolness of it in favour of staying focused. He trailed his slick digits around Misha's stiff cock, teasing at him, before dropping them lower and running them up the cleft of his ass. By the time Dean’s fingers had finally reached far enough to nudge at the edge of Misha’s clenching hole, Dean’s confidence that he usually showed in bed was rightfully in place.

Misha was squirming underneath his ministrations as Dean slowly slipped a finger inside. He shifted it around, stroking Misha's clenching walls and marvelling at the tightness. He worked him open with more insistence. The constant panting and moans falling from Misha’s wrecked mouth were more than enough inspiration to spur him on.

When Dean was effortlessly pumping three fingers inside of Misha it was then that Misha clutched at his shoulders and whined for him to  _just get on with it._

It was Dean’s turn to smirk as he pulled back, enjoying the view spread out before him. Enjoying  _Misha_ spread out just for him.

Misha rolled his eyes as best he could at the smug look on Dean’s face, before he pulled his husbands look alike back towards him to reseal their lips.

Dean shifted Misha’s legs into the position he needed them, dragging him closer across the sheets, so he could inch his way in.

Being sheathed inside Misha felt incredible, the tightness that gripped at him seemed to want nothing more than to draw him closer and never let him go.

Misha clutched desperately at Dean’s back as Dean began to rock into him with a steady rhythm, Misha’s nails no doubt leaving faint streaks as he dragged them downwards along hot skin.

The air was soon filled with nothing but their heavy panting and the occasional moan from either counterpart. Their sweat slick skin sliding against each other with apparent ease.

Dean knew the exact moment he managed to find that sweet spot deep inside Misha. The moan that tore from his throat louder than anything before.

Dean finally lost it when Misha reached for his arm.

Misha grabbed at Dean’s shoulder where Castiel’s mark was burned, his own hand fitting perfectly over the seared handprint.

Dean couldn’t help the thoughts that attacked his mind of his Angel. He roamed his eyes once again over the man who looked so much like him, currently taking his cock.

Dean thought of Cas,  _his Cas_. Appearing to him for the first time. The silhouette of dark wings flashing brilliantly against old barn doors. The image of a trench coated figure swooping in to save the day time after time again. Even the thought of a simple head tilt that conveyed so much naivety. Just Cas. His Angel.

And it was that which had Dean tumbling over the edge with a scream.


	4. Quatre

Dean woke to the unfamiliar feeling of his limbs wrapped around another’s. The feel of a firm, warm, and decidedly naked, body pressed against him. He couldn’t help the faint grin that graced his mouth when he blinked his eyes open and peered down at the man in his arms. Misha was still asleep, contently curled around him, a soft snore lifting from his peaceful form.

Dean trailed his hand gently around Misha’s side, absentmindedly tracing meaningless patterns into the bare skin beneath his fingertips. Dean didn’t notice when the light snore evened out into smooth breathing, but he did notice when Misha hummed in gratification. Dean glanced up to find Misha’s blue stare gazing fondly down at him.

Dean smiled shyly. Misha grinned.

“Good morning Dean,” Misha lifted Dean’s head up enough so he could press a chaste kiss to his lips, “Sleep well?”

Dean huffed gently, “I’m sure you’ll say it’s all thanks to you.”

Misha smiled, “You’re learning fast.” Dean groaned as Misha began to pull away from him, rolling out of bed unabashedly, not seeming to care that he was still completely naked and on display for Dean’s eyes. “We gotta get ready,” Misha stated simply.

“For what?” Dean grumbled, clutching at the blankets and trying to recuperate the warmth Misha had taken with him.

“Work. We’re, well me and Jensen, are both required on set by seven. So you better get your butt into gear, because Jensen isn’t going to lose his job because of you.”

Dean sighed, resigned. He was sure Sammy would have to be at ‘work’ also, so they’d be able to meet there and discuss plans for however the hell they were going to get back home. Dean tried not to feel guilty that he’d spent his night pointedly partaking in activities that did not help with their dilemma.

Dean was pulled out of his swirling thoughts as he felt Misha tug at his leg, “Come on, the shower’s big enough for two.”

-/-/-/-

Over forty five minutes later Dean was poking around the kitchen trying to find something suitable for breakfast, while Misha finished getting dressed. He settled for reheating left over’s from the night before; it really was good food.

Dean heard the message tone for a phone coming from the bag he’d picked up in Jensen’s trailer the day before. Pushing his plate to the side he dug through the assortment of crap that Jensen took to work every day, until his fingers curled successfully around a slim mobile.

It looked expensive, something that would no doubt be the latest model of its brand. Dean could see the little icon in the corner flashing, indication there were unread messages; now he just needed the pass code.

Dean tapped at the touch screen for over five minutes, holding the fancy device cautiously in his hands, as he tried to unlock the damn thing so he could read ‘his’ message. Becoming increasingly frustrated as the display on the screen flashed another failed attempt at him.

“Hey Misha?!” He finally called through the house.

“What?!” Misha’s tone hollered back.

“What’s the code to Jensen’s phone?”

“8 20 74,” Misha yelled.

Dean typed in the numbers and was pleased when he was granted access, “Why on earth is it that,” Dean muttered to himself.

“It’s my birthday,” Misha replied, pulling on his jacket as he walked into the kitchen.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Jensen’s such a sap.”

Misha grinned, “Yes. But he’s my sap, so lay off.” Dean shook his head. “Who’s the message from,” Misha asked absently as he scrounged for a clean coffee mug.

“The driver, I think. ‘Can’t pick you and Misha up for work. Gotta swing by airport for Jared. He says meet you on set.’” Dean frowned at the screen, “Jared? But that’s Sam right? Why is Sam going to the airport?”

Misha shrugged, “As if I know. He’s your brother.”

Dean sighed, frustrated he’d have to wait for an answer, “So how are we supposed to get to work?” Dean asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

“Me and Jensen do own cars, ya know.”

“What kind of cars?” Dean replied sceptically.

Misha rolled his eyes, placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders and directing him towards the garage, “Don’t fret, nothing you’ll be embarrassed to be seen in, Winchester.”

-/-/-/-

Dean was agitated by the time he’d found Sam. He’d just spent the better part of the last hour have people he didn’t know dress him up like a doll and insist that they had to cover his face with makeup. He wasn’t a girl dammit, he didn’t wear _makeup._ The fact that he could see Misha reflected in his mirror clearly trying not to laugh at him certainly wasn’t helping his mood.

Dean was almost overjoyed when his brother came into view, a small cardboard box tucked under his arm.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed out when everyone who wasn’t Sam was far enough out of earshot, “Boy am I glad to see you. Did you know that actors wore so much friggin’ makeup?!”

Sam waved him off, “Yeah, yeah, Dean, your life’s a tragedy.” He placed the box he had on the ledge in front of Dean. “Look I spent most of last night online, I managed to find -” Sam ceased talking as Misha walked up to them, coming to stand casually next to Dean.

“Ooh, priority,” He said, poking at the box, “What’s in it?”

“I bought part of a dead person,” Sam stated indifferently, clearly with the intention of getting Misha to leave them be.

“Sammy, it’s cool. You can say whatever in front of him,” Dean said shrugging, motioning his hand for Sam to continue talking.

“What? Why?” Sam questioned, confusion flooding his face before he turned serious, “Dean, you _didn’t_.”

Dean attempted to look innocent, “What? It’s not like I _couldn’t_ tell him. It’s kind of an obvious situation if you’re under the same roof as somebody else.” Sam looked like he was about to continue bitching, shooting a glare in Misha’s direction, but Dean shook his head, “It’s cool Sam. He’s cool with it.”

Misha grinned, “So what did you really buy?”

“I was serious; I bought part of a dead person.” Misha and Dean both pulled faces. “Wrist bone of a saint, found one in an auction house in Mexico, they shipped it directly.”

“Sam, that would cost a fortune,” Dean stated.

“Good thing Jared Padalecki is loaded then. Seriously, man, you should have seen the size of the house!” Sam grinned as Dean shook his head in exasperation, “Anyway, I managed to find everything else we need for the spell easy enough, now we just need to get near enough to that window without everyone trying to stop us.”

Misha perked his head up, “I might be able to help with that.”

-/-/-/-

Misha’s ‘diversion’, while entirely insane, was also close to genius.

Misha had managed to make enough commotion that practically the entire crew had gone running to his aid. They were well and truly disgruntled when all they found was a void room and a manically giggling, hyperactive, Misha.

The diversion had been great. The spell had been a disaster.

A disaster as in, it hadn’t worked.

“Maybe we did it wrong,” Sam grumbled again. Him, Dean and Misha all seated in Jensen’s trailer, were wallowing in their failure.

“No. No, that spell was perfect. It should have worked,” Dean stated stubbornly, Misha leaned over automatically to rub a hand soothingly down his back.

“Maybe it can’t? You know? Maybe here there’s no  _supernatural,_  no magic. Without that there’s nothing to drive the spell,” Sam stated fairly.

“So what?” Dean growled, “We’re stuck here forever? Pretending we know how to act like suckers? No offence, man,” he added to Misha.

Misha chuckled, “Some taken.” Then poked Dean in the side, “You can’t seriously be giving up, either of you. You’re the Winchesters. It takes more than one little slip up to stop the two of you.” Misha clapped his hands together, “So, what’s plan B?”

-/-/-/-

Plan B didn’t require much thinking since it fell into their laps in the shape of a highly pissed off, now powerless, Angel. The new being to their equation caused an hour of relative confusion.

Sam, Dean and Misha didn’t know who was more surprised with Virgil’s entrance; themselves because they once again had a henchman after their asses or Virgil when he realized he couldn’t simply smite anything in his path.

Sam and Dean had planned to thump the dick Angel to nothing more than pulp, currently having the upper hand with a surprised mojo free assassin. That plan was however thwarted by a bunch of crew members who hauled them apart, thinking their two major stars had started beating up extras.

Sam was once again about to descend into level headed panic when he searched his pockets and found them missing a specific key.

Dean was mindlessly ranting to Misha that maybe Virgil had a way back to their world and that they could use him when Sam stopped walking. “Dean. Virgil, I think he has the key.”

Dean opened his mouth to start bitching about Sam’s carelessness but Misha cut him off, “What key?”

“The one Balthazar gave us to protect before shoving us here,” Sam stated, panic lining his voice.

Misha shrugged, “Don’t worry about it.” Sam and Dean both turned to him, mouths hanging open, as if he’d lost his mind. “It won’t get Virgil anywhere. The key’s a fake.”

“And what would possibly make you think that?” Sam questioned, his temper rising.

“The script you moron,” Misha rolled his eyes as neither brother seemed to grasp what he was saying. “The script that we’re following for our current episode is legitimately what’s actually happening to you guys. Well it was until Dean kinda messed it up with the whole telling me thing.” Dean ignored the dark look his brother shot him. “Anyway, the key Balthazar gave you was a fake. He merely wanted a good enough diversion to keep Raphael’s attention off of him and onto you.”

“Great, another reason to add to the list why killing that son of a bitch would be a fantastic idea,” Dean growled out.

Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, “Calm down Dean, this works for us.”

“How?”

“Virgil thinks he has all he needs to take back to Raphael. The only thing he’s going to try and do now is get back to our universe. All we have to do is work out his plan and use it for ourselves,” Sam said reasonably.

“Oh, is that  _all,_ Sammy?”

“It’s more of a plan than we had ten minutes ago, Dean,” Sam glared at him, “You got any better ideas?”

Dean shook his head sadly.

“Fine. So that’s our plan.”

-/-/-/-

Apparently luck was finally on their side.  
Dean, Sam and Misha (because he still insisted that he wanted to help, even though Dean had told him it would probably be safer for him to go home) were standing around one of the set’s at the back of the studio, which had now become a crime scene.

Some poor sap now lay under a white sheet stained with blood, his throat slit open, and no life left in his body. They’d mentioned his name and apparently Dean was supposed to look more upset than what he did but he didn’t have time right now to focus on pretending to be Jensen. He was more interested in listening to the only witness’s recount of events as Sam questioned him.

“Yeah, yeah, Raphael, like the ninja turtle. He was calling someone named Raphael, up in heaven. That’s right. Then the scary man killed the other man, then he started to pray. And the strange part, after awhile, I swear, I  _swear_  I heard this voice answering.”

“What did it say?” Sam asked quickly.

The witness stuttered, “It didn’t make any sense.”

“Try us,” Misha stated, seeming to slide into the role of interrogator with ease.

“The voice said for Virgil to return tomorrow, at the place where he crossed over, at the time of the crossing and Raphael would reach through the window and take him and the key home.”

The three of them thanked the witness gratefully before moving away from the slowly growing crowd.

“So that’s it. We get pulled through the portal instead of Virgil. All we have to do is find a way to keep him out of the way,” Sam said as they headed back towards where the trailers were lined up.

“ _All we have to do_?” Dean sighed, running his hand down his face, “Sure that sounds like a piece of cake. But Sammy even if that miraculously goes to plan, then we’re still faced with a bigger problem.”

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“We’ll be pulled straight to Raphael!” Dean continued.

Sam nodded, “I know Dean, but it’s the only choice we’ve got.”

“So how are you going to work your way around that hefty issue?” Misha asked as they arrived back in front of Jensen’s trailer.

Sam shrugged, “We call to Cas. And we just pray he gets to us first.”


	5. Cinq

Dean was more than pleased to discover the trailers that belonged to their counterparts came complete with beds. He was content to stay at the studio for the night, keeping close to where they needed to be, and was even more at ease when Misha declared that he’d stay with him.

Dean woke well rested for the second day in a row, even with the knowledge hanging over him and his brother that they were about to walk into what could easily become a certain death.

Dean had enjoyed the sensation of having Misha curled in his arms for another night and hadn’t found it in himself to protest when Misha began languidly ravishing at his mouth, or when he started to strip him bare, running deft fingers wherever he could reach, tracing the many scars that littered Dean’s body - that would no doubt be lacking on Jensen’s bare skin - and enticing sensations from him he hadn’t been aware were a possibility.

There were caterers milling around early enough in the morning for the three men to grab some food. Sam whispering to Dean while they ate that he’d managed to find the exact window that was smashed when Virgil came through; though most of the crew were still trying to figure out what had caused the pane of glass to shatter.

Now all they had to do was bluff their way through the next six hours before Raphael activated the sigil.

Acting; It would be easy as pie. Right?

-/-/-/-

It took Dean less than sixty seconds to realize that ‘acting’ definitely wasn’t as simple as it looked.

Dressing up and pretending to be and FBI agent or something similar was easier than this!

This – where you had to hit these stupid marks, remember ridiculous lines, and make sure you didn’t look at any of the cameras. As well as positioning yourself appropriately to your other cast members on set, trying to remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your hands, all while having certainly more people than necessary watching your every move. It was some kind of torture.

Once again owing thanks to Misha, Sam and Dean managed to get out of being back on set after they broke for lunch. Misha complaining, to whoever was important enough to tell, that he wasn’t feeling well enough to continue shooting for the rest of the day. Apparently none of the scenes that needed to be shot could be done without him, so the director gave up in a huff.

When it drew close to the time that they needed to head off Virgil, Sam and Dean began making their way back to Jensen’s trailer where they’d stashed the minimal amount of weapons they’d managed to get their hands on. They’d been on guard all day; expecting Virgil to at least _try_ and kill them again before he left.

“Dean!”

Dean turned to see Misha jogging up to them, “Thanks for pulling the sick card man,” Dean said gratefully, clapping his hand to Misha’s shoulder.

Misha grinned half-heartedly, “Dean there’s something I –, Something I need your help with,” Misha said motioning his head over his shoulder.

Dean glanced across to Sam who nodded, “We’ve only got about twenty minutes, so make it quick.”

Misha nodded his thanks to Sam before grabbing Dean’s hand and turning on his heel, leading Dean hastily to his trailer across the lot. Dean followed close behind, curiosity dragging him forward along with some sense of familiar trust, as he tried not to stare too hard at Misha’s ass.

Misha’s trailer was a bit smaller than Jensen’s, and it seemed much more cluttered. There were stacks of books piled at various intervals around the room, as well as a laptop and a flat screen. A few board games were perched on a small table and a messy stack of CD’s sat next to them. Clearly Misha got bored easily when he wasn’t needed on set.

“Seeing Cas again is going to feel strange,” Dean mumbled now that they were alone, trailing his fingers along the spines of Misha’s books. Misha looked at him questioningly, “I mean, am I supposed to pretend I don’t know what he looks like underneath all those layers?” Dean laughed.

Misha smiled softly, “Thought I told you to go home and sort out all that crap.”

Dean chuckled again, “And how exactly do you propose I start _that_ conversation?”

“Tell him you slept with me. I bet you anything it will make him instantly jealous,” Misha stated, “I know Castiel better than you could imagine. If you let him Dean, he’ll stay with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very corrupting personality?”

Misha shrugged, “Someone may have mentioned something along the lines one or twice.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as Dean continued to look around. Finding more than one album or novel he was familiar with.

“So, where’s Virgil going to be?” Misha asked innocently.

“No, you’re not coming to help us,” Dean stated firmly.

Misha pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on to better glare at Dean, “Really? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. I’ve been of help to you so far, you can’t deny that.”

“Because you’re not actually an Angel who can defend himself with the wave of his hand,” Dean replied, crossing his arms over his chest and staring the man in front of him down, “You can’t get hurt Misha. Not because of this. Not because of me and my brother.”

Misha sighed dejectedly, “I _suppose_ that counts.”

Dean chuckled; when he thought about it, he figured he was probably gonna miss this guy.

“I’m guessing you don’t actually need ‘help’ with anything,” Dean gestured around the trailer.

Misha seemed to have an internal debate with himself, face clouding with worry as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Don’t move,” He said firmly to Dean, seeming to make some sort of decision as he walked over to pick something up from one of the cluttered tables in the corner.

Dean trailed his eyes after him questioningly as he paced back over with a thick square envelope grasped in his hand. Misha fumbled with the package before thrusting it out to Dean.

“I want you to take this,” Misha said firmly, ensuring Dean lifted the sealed envelope out of his hands.

“What is it?” Dean asked cautiously, turning the fat packet over in his hands.

“It’s -” Misha closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, “God, I don’t know if I should be doing this. If I’m _allowed_ to do this.” He opened his eyes again, gazing to the trailer’s bare roof, “But you cares right? Once in a lifetime opportunities and all that. Besides it’s only an ‘if’.”

“Misha, man, explain?”

“I want you to take this. But I don’t want you to open it.” Dean raised his eyebrows sceptically. “Not right away at least.”

“Dude, seriously, what’s in this?” Dean shook the parcel, he was relatively sure it was filled with nothing more exciting than paper. Was Misha trying to play a joke on him?

“They’re scripts. For the rest of our season.”

Dean perked his head up, “Why would you -”

“Look, I have no idea how similar your world truly is in relation to what we act out. However, it seems that we’ve been pretty accurate so far. But, that doesn’t mean that since you’ve been here now that it hasn’t already caused everything to deviate and skew and there could already be a million different paths waiting for you back home. I mean, what’s in that envelope could be so totally farfetched and nowhere in the realm of possibility. But then again, it might be,” Misha sighed, “It’s just an ‘in case’.”

“In case of what?” Dean asked, the alarm in his voice not entirely subtle.

Misha looked away, rubbing his hand through his hair and causing it to stick up in all directions. Dean reached forward, pulling his face back around so he could clearly see those damn blue eyes. He asked more gently, “In case of what? Mish?”

Misha gulped, Dean feeling the sensation shift his hand, “Just -, if there is ever a moment, just any moment, when you feel _doubt_ in -, in Cas, then, _then_ , I want you to open this.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

Misha shook his head, “It’s only an _if_. Nothing is for sure.” He sighed, “But _if_ there is that moment. I want you, I need you, to read what’s in here. Before it’s too late.” Dean opened his mouth to continue questioning, half of him wanted to tear the envelope open now and have Misha explain everything like a normal person, but Misha just shook his head again, “Don’t. Just take it. For just in case,” Misha smiled sadly up at him, a glassiness coating his eyes.

Dean could do nothing but nod and clutch the envelope tightly.

He pulled Misha towards him and pressed their lips together for what was sure to be the final time. This strange man who was so eccentric. Who flounced around with a cheeky grin and a cocksure attitude, but underneath it all had a heart of gold and an even superior quality of benevolence. Maybe he was an Angel.

Misha pulled back and smiled up at him, “You ought to hurry Winchester, I believe you have an Angel ride to catch.”

-/-/-/-

Sam had his facts straight. He had precisely the correct window location and the timing was almost spot on. As Virgil rounded the corner of the set he was caught off guard completely by the two Winchester’s, who used their greater body strength to wrestle the gun out of the powerless Angel’s hands.

Both boys delivered heavy blows to their opponent, and received quite a few in return, but they managed to use Virgil’s own weapon against him and in just enough time he went down.

Neither Sam nor Dean had the chance to breathe a sigh of relief or victory before the sigil painted on the motel set window behind them was visibly glowing red and sending out vibrations around them.

Taking a deep breath, they both braced themselves for whatever came next.

-/-/-/-

Sam and Dean landed with a hard thud on the pavement outside the motel room; the _real_ motel room. Virgil’s lifeless body falling heavily beside them.

Dean glanced up and cringed at the sight in front of them. Raphael, although wearing a completely new meatsuit, stood confidently before them glaring down.

 _Cas, man, I need you to hear me. We’re about to be dead if you don’t fly your ass down here to save us –_ Dean prayed any variation of need he could think of in Cas’ direction, as he scrambled to his feet. Sam doing the same by his side.

“You two… Have the strangest luck,” Raphael inflected to them.

“Raphael?” Dean tried to keep the Angel distracted enough not to simply smite them, “Nice meatsuit,” He turned to Sam, “Dude looks like a lady.”

Dean only caught a glimpse of Raphael squeezing a fist before he was bent doubled over in pain. The feeling of fire tearing through his stomach as Raphael worked some kind of mojo on him, and most likely Sam since he heard his grunt of pain from somewhere to his left.

“The key,” Raphael stated simply, walking forward to pick it up from where it lay beside Virgil’s vacated form.

“And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station.”

The pain slashing through Dean vanished as swiftly as it had started as Balthazar’s drawling tone sounded. Glancing at his brother in relief Dean didn’t know whether he should now be completely relieved or outraged that Misha had been right; the key was a fake, they were nothing more than a diversion.

“Really,” Raphael turned the apparently useless key over.

Balthazar didn’t even spare a glance to the boys before continuing, “You see I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing.”

“Give me the weapons,” Raphael demanded.

“Sorry, darling,” Balthazar said without the barest hint of sincerity, “They’re gone.”

“What?!”

“I said, too bloody late. You see, they were so well-hidden that I needed time to find them. So, I volunteered these two marmosets for a game of fetch with Virgil. You two were such an adequate stick,” He continued turning his head to Sam and Dean, “Thank you. Thank you, boys.”

“You’ve made your last mistake,” Raphael said threateningly, making a start towards Balthazar.

“Oh, I’ve got a few more up my sleeve, honey,” Balthazar’s voice still didn’t hold the slightest trace of fear.

Dean hadn’t heard the usual rustle of wings but he couldn’t help the relief that automatically flooded through his system as the sound of Castiel’s strong tone sounded around them.

“Step away from him, Raphael. I have the weapons now. Their power is with me.”

“Castiel,” Raphael stated, shooting across a menacing glare.

“If you don’t want to die tonight, back off,” Cas’ voice was nothing more than a growl as Raphael disappeared in a rush of feathers.

Balthazar glanced at the three of them in turn until he rested his eyes heavily on Cas, “Well, Cas… Now that you have your sword, try not to die by it.” And just as simply he was gone.

Dean wanted to holler for him to come back; he was still in his right mind to stake the Angel on a blade and be done with it for what he had done to them. But he didn’t get a chance before Cas was striding silently towards them, placing a hand to both his and Sam’s foreheads, and between one blink and the next they were no longer standing in the deserted motel parking lot but instead the comfort of Bobby’s.

 “Cas, what the hell?” Sam began immediately as the Angel released them, “Wait, wait, you were in on this, using us as a diversion?” He sounded outraged.

“It was Balthazar’s plan,” Cas said, refusing to look at either one of them, “I would have done the same thing.”

“That’s not comforting, Cas,” Dean growled out.

Having Cas, _his_ Cas, back in front of him wasn’t giving Dean the reaction he thought he’d have. His instinctual relief was rapidly fading, to be replaced with some manner of hurt, as he watched Cas fidget around the room.

“When will I be able to make you understand?” Cas ground out, “If I lose against Raphael, we all lose. Everything.”

“Yeah, Cas. We know the stakes,” Dean couldn’t help but snap, “That’s about all you’ve told us!”

“I’m sorry about all this. I’ll explain when I can.”

Cas was gone before either brother could stop him, frustration rising up within Dean rapidly at his commonplace disappearance.

“Friggin’ Angels!” 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fair warning - from now this is mostly Destiel and based in the 'real' universe. Also the italic words in this chapter are exact transcript extracts from the show, clearly I don't own any of that.

Sam had managed to fall asleep easily enough, his long limbs sprawled out over Bobby’s couch like usual. Dean wasn’t that lucky. He’d spent a good hour pacing around Bobby’s kitchen, drinking a beer or two, constant thoughts swirling around his mind unwilling to let him rest.

The house soon felt too confining and Dean found himself needing out, walking down the old rickety steps into the scrap yard. Needing air – needing space.

Dean finally came to sit on the hood of his beloved Impala, gazing up at the night sky, words that weren’t his own chasing each other around and around his mind.

One word stuck out more than most; doubt.

He could still hear Misha’s tone, crystal clear, as if the man was seated right beside him. Could still picture the watery glaze to Misha’s so familiar eyes as he muttered those words to Dean.

If. Doubt. Before it’s too late.

 _Cas_.

Dean felt somewhat ashamed that his restraint didn’t even last twenty four hours. But Misha knew Dean’s personality, knew it well, so technically Misha should have expected this so it was his fault in the first place. But then, maybe he did know and this is what Dean would do and that was the reason he’d told him not to originally. That train of thought soon caused Dean’s head and he willingly gave up on it.

In the end it was out there in the dark, seated on the hood of his car, Dean said good riddance, pulled the thick envelope Misha had given him out from the inside of his jacket, and tore it open.

Misha hadn’t lied about the contents; scripts. Even after he’d opened the packet Dean spent a good amount of time just staring at the title page of the first one.

Could he really do this? Read what was possibly his future?

As the words The Man Who Would Be King continued to taunt at him, he gave up, flipped the page, and read.

_You know, I’ve… I’ve been here for a very long time. And I remember many things. I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying, “Don’t step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.” I remember the Tower of Babel, all 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled ‘divine wrath.’ But come on – dried dung can only be stacked so high. I remember Cain and Abel… David and Goliath… Sodom and Gomorrah. And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event – remarkable because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk and a fallen angel. The grand story. And we ripped up the ending and rules… and destiny… leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except… well, what if I’ve made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know? I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything._

_It was barely a paragraph, but Dean knew, he_ _knew,_ _that there was no going back from this. So he read, and he didn’t pause until dawn touched the skyline._

_You summoned me here?_   
_Castiel, I’ve been hearing things. Things I don’t want to believe. Just tell me if it’s true._   
_If what’s true?_   
_You know. You’re dirty little secret._

All the lies.

_I just don’t understand how Crowley could’ve tricked me._

_You know what? I’ve kept my mouth shut. I could have complained, I could have raised a fuss, but I didn’t. But you know what the last straw is? Un-sinking the Titanic. You changed the future. You cannot change the past. That is going too far!_   
_It’s Balthazar. He’s erratic -_   
_Bull crap. This isn’t about some stupid movie. He’s under your orders. You sent him back to save that ship._   
_No I didn’t. Why would I?_   
_Maybe because you’re in the middle of a war and you’re desperate? Come on. This is about the souls. That Angel went and created 50,000 new souls for your war machine._

Over and over again.

_Are you in flagrante with the King of Hades?_   
_Of course not._   
_Always were such a terrible liar. So it’s true. Alright then, why?_   
_It’s a means to an end. Balthazar, you understand that._   
_Oh, absolutely. But what’s the end here exactly? You know, raid Purgatory, snatch up all the souls?_   
_Win the war._   
_And I can only assume that you’d be the vessel correct? Suck up all those souls into yourself? All that power?_   
_It’s the only way._   
_Or too much juice for you, in which case you explode, taking a substantial chunk of the planet along with you._

All the betrayal.

_But, Cas, you’ll call, right? If you get into real trouble?_

_You think that Cas is in with Crowley. Crowley?_

At every turn.

_And the worst part was Dean, trying so hard to be loyal, with every instinct telling him otherwise._

_I had no choice. I did it to protect the boys. Or to protect myself. I don’t know anymore._

_Superman gone dark side._

Even to those who least expected it.

_I’m renegotiating our terms._   
_Is that so? What terms do you propose?_   
_You get nothing. Not one single soul._

_Here are your options. You either flee, or you die._   
_We made a pact. Even I don’t break contracts like this._   
_Flee, or die._

The mistakes.

_So I went to an old friend for help. But watching him, I stopped. Everything he sacrificed, and I was about to ask him for more._

_God wants you to have freedom._   
_But what does he want us to do with it?_   
_If I knew then what I know now… I might have said, “It’s simple. Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”_

Even when it counted the most.

_It’s not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!_

_First Sam and Dean, and now this. I’m doing my best in impossible circumstances. My friends, they abandon me, plot against me. It’s difficult to understand._   
_Well you’ve always got little old me._   
_Yes, I’ll always have you._   
_Cas…_

With truths lain bare

 _You said Eve could open the door to Purgatory._ _  
_Correct. I did. And I’m confident that she could have if she was still alive! Single best chance to get over the rainbow, and the Winchesters killed her!_ _

_Please. I’m begging you, Castiel. Just kill the Winchesters._   
_No_  
 _Fine. Then I’ll do it myself._  
 _If you kill them, I’ll just bring them back again._  
 _No, you won’t. Not where I’ll put ‘em. Trust me._  
 _I said no. Don’t worry about them._  
 _Don’t worry about – what, like Lucifer didn’t worry? Or Michael? Or Lilith or Alastair or Azazel didn’t worry?! Am I the only game piece on the board who doesn’t underestimate those denim-wrapped nightmares?!_  
 _Just find Purgatory. If you don’t, we will both die again and again, until the end of time. The Winchesters won’t get to you._

Even the hardest to learn.

_And so I knew what I had to do next. Once again, I went to Harrow Hell, to free Sam from Lucifer’s cage. It was nearly impossible, but I was so full of confidence, of mission. I see now that was arrogance. Because of course, I hadn’t truly raised Sam, not all of him. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to be given a warning. This should have been mine._

_So, that’s everything. I believe it’s what you would call a… tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is… limited. I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, Father. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? You have to tell me. You have to give me… a sign. Give me a sign. Because if you don’t… I’m gonna ju- I’m gonna do whatever I… whatever I must._

All leading to one tragic end.

_I’m glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won’t work because I’m not an angel anymore. I’m your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you._

As the sun finally breached the horizon Dean could do nothing more than drop his head in his hands and let whatever grief he felt break free.

-/-/-/-

“Castiel,” Dean started, he only managed the three syllables before he was looking to the heavens. Praying to a God he didn’t believe was listening for strength. “Cas, I need you to come down here.” Dean sighed, rubbing at his temples, a dull ache had settled behind his eyes. “I don’t know, nor care, where you are or what you’re doing right now. But I need to talk you Cas. It’s important,” He waited, being met with nothing but the sounds of birds chirping their song to the continuously rising sun.

Dean stood with a thump from where he’d still been seated on the hood of his baby, muscles sore from the solid metal that had been his only support. He paced in front of her, something in him recognising she was well past due for a decent polish. The sheets of paper still tightly scrunched in his fist as he tried again.

“Cas. I need you to hear me.” Dean scoffed to himself, “Who am I kidding? Of course you can hear me, right? You’re just choosing to ignore me,” Dean kicked at the dirt beneath his feet, “You can always hear me. You know when I call. But if it doesn’t suit you, if I’m not currently a priority, not _important_ enough for your attention, you do this.” Dean continued around his car, his pace increasing the more his words fell on uncaring ears.

“You just leave me here. No answer. No response or sign. Just stone cold silence. Silence that pounds heavier than your damn words,

 “You say you care Cas, but yet you leave me here with nothing! All you’ve done is lie to me Castiel! You said – you _promised_ that you’d be there for me. Where are you now?

 “I need you here now more than ever Cas! Right now, before -”

Dean froze, in his pacing and his tirade, as he was met with the sudden image of Cas before him.

Cas’ coat flapped around him as he came to the abrupt halt, dark hair standing in all directions as usual, exceedingly concerned look clouding his features.

“Before what, Dean?” Cas’ tone was laced with worry, the dip to his brow lower than usual.

Before what? Before his world came crashing down around him for whatever numbered time he was up to in his miserable life? Before he lost everything to darkness, again? Before he had nothing left to give or lose or hope for?

Dean hadn’t noticed while he paced that his eyes had begun to water again, but he wiped at them harshly now, refusing any such weakness to fracture through; especially in front of Cas. He wasn’t upset dammit! He was enraged.

“Before it’s too late.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, “Dean, I don’t understand.”

Dean held back the growl of frustration at the blank look on Cas’ face. He reached forward, grasping Cas firmly by the shoulders, to hold the Angel in place.

“Cas I need -, Cas I need you to tell me the truth.”

Dean refrained from giving Cas a hard shake as his expression remained the same; void of emotion, “About what Dean? I have no secrets from you.”

It took everything Dean had left not to punch Cas in the face at the phrase.

He tried to breathe. It wasn’t certain yet. This could all still be hypothetical right? It wasn’t certain until Cas looked him in the eye and told him straight; none of it was true.

“Cas -” Dean’s voice cracked, he forced himself to look away from the blue gaze which was quickly becoming more concern than anything else.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas reached forward to touch at the corner of Dean’s eye. Dean didn’t doubt they would be bloodshot. “What has happened?”

Dean flinched away from the contact, “Cas, I need you to answer something for me. Just one thing.”

“Of course Dean,” Cas murmured sincerely.

“Cas, are you -, are you and Crowley working together to open Purgatory?”

And there it was. That flicker behind Cas’ eyes. The twitch of his face that he wasn’t fast enough to hide. It was the shock Cas must have felt that made it impossible for him to keep composed. It was only a second of fracture, but it was a second long enough.

Dean didn’t wait for a verbal response before he was dropping his hands from Cas’ shoulders and stumbling backwards. God, he felt sick. His head was spinning. He felt like he was going to puke. He wanted to punch something. Screw punching something – he wanted to kill something.

The words he’d read, every scenario he’d dreaded, true. Castiel, _his_ goddamn Angel, and it was true.

“Dean -” Cas reached for him but Dean backed further away.

“No! God dammit Cas!” Dean’s heart rate had sped up, he could feel his pulse thrumming through his veins, his breathing unwilling to be anything other than erratic, “Do you realize what you’re doing? How this is going to end?!”

“Dean, you don’t understand. Everything is -”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘under control’, so help me -” Dean turned away, scrubbing his hand down his face as his throat started to constrict. He braced his arms against the Impala for support.

“Dean, it’s the only way. You don’t understand, let me tell you the whole -” Cas sounded panicked, frenzied, but Dean didn’t care, he still cut him off.

“I know the whole fucking story Cas. Probably so much more than any bullshit you would spout to me right now. So much more than the lies that would tumble from your mouth,” Dean took a breath. “You’ve been lying this whole damn time. The whole time! About everything. Crowley, Purgatory, Sam!” Dean shook his head, “You lied about Sam, Cas. You were the one, this entire time. _You_ brought him back broken.”

When Dean finally turned back around the sight of Cas made it all so much harder.

He looked so lost. So broken and confused. His blue eyes were glassy and if he possessed the capability to cry Dean was sure that his cheeks would be streaked with tears. “Dean, _please._ ”

“You don’t get to ask anything of me, Cas.”

Cas hung his head and shied away from the hunter before him. It was as if he expected Dean to deal him a fatal blow. Maybe he did expect it. Maybe Dean should deal it. But nothing more than silence fell between them.

Cas was the one to finally break it, not daring to glance up, not raising his voice louder than a murmur Dean would hear, “How? How do you know?”

Dean laughed, but there was no humour behind the act. He didn’t speak, thrusting the scripts he’d abandoned next to the Impala into Cas’ hands. Cas’ eyes grew wide as they trailed over the ink lining the pages, he didn’t need to read more than a few paragraphs to realize what he currently held.

“Where did you get these, Dean?”

Dean laughed again, the action helping him expel a portion of his swirling emotions, “What? Already forgotten that you had Balthazar throw us into an alternate dimension? Misha gave them to me. Apparently honesty isn’t a trait that your soul or whatever transfers between realities. Because he, he had plenty of it. Whereas you -, you -”

Dean broke off, either unwilling or incapable of finishing the accusation.

Cas didn’t look back up to Dean, choosing to gaze blindly at the well-read pages in his hands, “Misha? He was my counterpart?”

“Yes,” Dean snapped.

“Why would he give these to you?” Cas risked a glance up, “Unless he knew who you were.”

Dean scoffed, “You’re going to berate me? You’re going to focus on the fact that I came clean to someone that I jumped worlds? Really? That’s what you’ve got to say?”

“It was foolish of you Dean. He could have done anything to you. Just because he shared my face did not mean that he would also be willing to protect you as I am.”

Dean grinned wretchedly, “Well it didn’t seem to worry him that much, Cas. After all, he still let me fuck him into his mattress.”

Cas’ whole demeanour froze at Dean’s bitter statement. His eyes widening and what little fight he had left in him fading completely.

Cas let his hand holding the scripts fall to his side, “I’m sorry for what I have done, Dean.”

“Leave,” Dean said firmly.

“What?”

“I want you to leave,” Dean reiterated, “I want you to go. Get out of my sight.”

Cas remained immobile as Dean stood staring at him fiercely.

“GO!” Dean finally shouted.

Cas looked more defeated than Dean had ever seen him as he vanished, his wrecked visage disappearing in the rustle of feathers.

All that was left behind was a pile of crumpled scripts, slowly falling to the trodden ground. And a broken hunter, tumbling soon after.


	7. Sept

Sam and Bobby waited till well after lunch before they went looking for Dean. Neither had seen him since the night before, and after the umpteenth phone call to an unanswered mobile, they relented to check the scrap yard.

The Impala was still parked near the house, the keys still dumped on the kitchen table, so the elder Winchester could only have gone as far as he could be bothered walking.

They weren’t overly worried about him; it was more that they knew absences should never go unchecked for long.

The Dean they found was not one either of them was accustomed to.

Dean had crumpled, completely exhausted, against the back of an old Chevy behind Bobby’s barn. He sat with his back against rusted framework, his legs drawn tight to his chest, and his eyes fixed wide open but clearly seeing nothing.

It took a lot of effort on Sam and Bobby’s part for Dean to even notice their presence. Sam had to practically hoist his unanimated brother to his feet and half carry him inside as Dean remained silent.

“He’s in shock Sam,” Bobby stated to the younger Winchester, pulling him away from Dean once they had him more respectably seated inside.

“About what?” Sam asked, freaked. Shooting a worried look in Bobby’s direction.

“No idea, boy.” Bobby sighed, “Give him a few, he should snap out of it.”

It took Bobby eventually cracking from intolerance and whacking Dean around the head with a rolled up newspaper that dragged Dean back into the world. His wide eyes finally focusing onto his brother seated across from him, as Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dean? You alright? What’s going on?” Sam’s questions were rushed, his tone a mixture of relief and still evident panic.

“We saw Cas outside earlier,” Bobby stated, “Everything alright between you?”

Dean visibly flinched as Bobby mentioned Cas’ name. The action not going unnoticed by anyone.

Dean took a moment to gather himself, before monotonously, explaining everything.

-/-/-/-

Dean refused to eat – much to Sam and Bobby’s displeasure. He’d excused himself close to sunset, sick of both his brother and his father figure scouring through the scripts he’d shown them and discussing their content at length.

He trudged his way out to his car again, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Taking the keys this time, Dean managed to find himself behind the wheel, keys idly in the ignition – that was as far as he managed.

His emotions were a shattered mess. Anger, turmoil, confusion, rage, grief; all locked inside of him. How was he supposed to deal with this? How was he supposed to make any sense of it? When it was Cas, _his_ goddamn _Cas_ , who was to blame.

Dean rested his head on the steering wheel, his eyes clamping shut, hands shaking as they curled into fists atop his knees; and he prayed.

 _Cas_.

It only took the barest call and he heard the rustle of wings. Dean didn’t need to look to know that Castiel was now seated in the passenger seat of his car, his face still probably contorted with panic, waiting patiently for Dean to move.

Dean huffed a soft laugh, “You showed.”

“I always come when you call, Dean.” Cas said firmly, a clear shattered facet hidden behind his usual mask.

Dean pushed himself up slowly, turning to face his friend. The look in Cas’ eyes was something Dean had only ever seen present there once before, and that had been in the face of the devil himself.

Fear. Unadulterated, terrifying, fear.

Dean couldn’t stand the sight of it. Turning away, with little patience he swung his door open and climbed out of the safety that was his baby.

What gave Cas the right to be afraid? He wasn’t the one who just had his world turned on end, again. He wasn’t the one who just found out he was being betrayed by one of the closest beings in the world to him. Cas didn’t have the right to sit there and look afraid. What was he fearful of? That he’d gotten caught? That Dean had called him here to eradicate him?

If that’s what Dean wanted he had every right! Every goddamn right!

How could Cas have done this? How did they manage to get here?

Cas followed Dean’s lead and got out of the Impala, using the door instead of showing his usual insistence for ignoring things as simple as handles.

“You were there, at Lisa’s,” Dean stated, his back still firmly turned to the Angel lingering behind him.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas hovered cautiously, watching as Dean scuffed the toe of his boot repeatedly into the dirt.

Dean sighed, “You should have come to me then, Cas. You should have come to me then. Not gone off with Crowley, of all people. You know I would have done anything you asked, if you had just come to me.” Dean turned around to make sure Cas hadn’t pulled another vanishing act when he received no form of response.

Cas stood with his eyes downcast, his entire body still, the only movement the slight flap of his coat and the rustle of his hair as a breeze swept over them. “That is why I could not do it,” Cas started softly, “You _would_ have followed. I could not have been the one to rip you away. You were happy Dean, you were building something. And I was going to be the one to destroy that.” Cas shook his head, “I could not do it.”

Dean snorted, “Enough of the martyr crap.”

Cas pressed forward as if Dean hadn’t spoken, eyes still turned away, “That is why when Crowley came to me with another option, one that left you firmly out of harm’s way, I grasped at the chance. It was the only way you could stay untroubled. To continue as you were.”

Dean’s mouth twisted sardonically, “To leave me as I was? You think I was happy there? Happy -, You know what would have made me happy, Castiel?” Cas flinched at Dean’s use of his full name, “For you not to have disappeared after I lost everything. I lost my brother in the worst way imaginable and you just took off. I prayed to you Cas. You ignored me.” Dean clenched his fists by his side, “I called and you just left me there.” Dean took a measured pace forward, “The only reason I went to Lisa was because it was what Sam told me to do. I had nothing left after you vanished, I couldn’t think – so I did what my brother told me.”

“You -,” Cas watched as Dean ran his hands distractedly through his hair, “You were out. You had the foundations of a life.”

Dean sneered, “I never wanted out Cas. I don’t believe in ‘out’. There is no out for people like us. So I sat there waiting, on edge, for the day when everything crashed down around me. And it came when Sam strolled back in, soulless, all thanks to you.”

“Dean, you have to understand,” Cas took his chances taking a few hurried steps closer to Dean, counting it a victory when Dean didn’t back away, “It is my job to protect you. To keep you out of harm’s way. How was I supposed to lead you into such devastation, when that is my place?”

“Your job is to protect me? Why? Because you’re the Angel and I’m the human? Because we have a ‘profound bond’,” Dean shook his head, “Dammit, Cas. You can’t just pick and choose rules that sound like they suit you. Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, that’s not what it means? That it’s – we’re – supposed to signify something else.”

Cas furrowed his brow, “Dean, I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Maybe our ‘bond’ that you feel, doesn’t mean that you’re supposed to protect me from the world, or watch over me, or whatever it is you think you’re meant to do. Maybe it’s something different,” Dean looked away as Cas continued to watch him questioningly, “Maybe it’s supposed to be something more than one sided, Cas. What if you’re supposed to stay, and we’re meant to deal with all this shit together?

 “What if safe for me, is wherever you are. What if you’ve been running in the wrong direction when all the answers are right here. Possibly, we’re meant to stick together Cas. Fight together, plan together, come home to one another, watch ridiculous movies from decades ago, cook food -” Dean cut himself off as he realized words were for once pouring out of his mouth instead of chasing themselves around his mind.

Cas stayed silent for a moment, his eyes trained once again in any direction that wasn’t Dean’s. “Is that what you did with _him_? Make dinner, what television?” Cas’ voice had turned bitter.

“What’s it to you?” Dean motioned, then paused, frowning, “Misha was right,” He said, more for his own benefit than Cas’, “You are jealous.”

“I am not envious of anything you and that man shared, Dean,” Cas practically snarled, his eyes flashing darkly.

Dean nodded, “Of course you’re not. The lies have finally ceased and you’re giving in and telling me the truth,” Dean chuckled humourlessly, “You don’t care about anything that happened between me and him. You feel absolutely nothing when I say that I enjoyed it. With him. What we did together. You don’t care that I liked it when he made me dinner. Or that I revelled in the sensation of curling up on his couch with him.”

“No,” Cas muttered across.

“It doesn’t bother you that I enjoyed the feel of his fingers pressing into my skin. That he learnt every inch of me, and I him, or that I practically begged him to lead me to his bed.”

“Enough,” Cas said quietly.

“You’re not fazed, never will be, that I spread him out underneath me. Put my mouth to his as if I was starving, fucked into him as if -”

“I said enough!”

Dean flinched as glass shattered out of the few unbroken car windows that had been behind Cas. He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty, even with Cas standing in front of him, breathing heavily, pain evident in his eyes, as he tried to calm down.

“You’re right, Cas. You don’t feel a thing,” Dean shrugged, his sarcastic statement hanging in the air. “And why would you? I mean, I’m nothing more than a miniscule human that you were _sent_ to protect.”

“Dean.”

“I am nothing to you,” Dean continued firmly, “And that’s why you did this.”

“Dean,” Cas shook his head fiercely, “No, you are -, I did this to protect _you_.”

“Come on Cas, making a deal with the King of Hell? That doesn’t protect anybody. You did this for nobody but yourself. You want the power that Crowley offered when he suggested Purgatory.”

“No, Dean. Raphael, the war, everything. I can’t beat him without help.”

“Beat him to what end Cas?” Dean’s voice was broken, “To the end where you go power crazy? Proclaim yourself God?”

Cas stubbornly retorted, “No! That is not what will happen.”

“Yes it is,” Dean stated distress in his tone, “I’ve read the ending Cas. Just because you say ‘no’ doesn’t make it untrue. You’re acting like a child. You are so close to destroying everything. You need to stop. _I_ need you to stop.”

Cas hung his head, raising his hands he shielded his glassy eyes from Dean’s view. Cas’ voice came out muffled between his fingers, “I am sorry, Dean.” He lowered his arms, an obvious dampness tainting his cheeks, “I am truly sorry.”

Dean strode forward, for the first time standing close enough to Cas that he’d be able to reach out and touch the intangible being. “I need you to listen to me, Cas. I need you to understand that we need to fix this, to stop all of it. That I’ll help you.” Cas swallowed, meeting Dean’s strong gaze. “From now on, I’m your help when you need it. You and me, what we always were, but just differently. Do you understand?”

Cas nodded solemnly.

Dean was still furious when he reached forward, his rage only being trumped by his unexplainable need, as he grasped the collar of Cas’ coat. It was only Cas’ surprise at Dean’s sudden movement that enabled the hunter enough power to drag the Angel closer.

Dean couldn’t help but grip too tight at the back of Cas’ neck, couldn’t help the renewed rush of adrenaline that was pumping through his veins, couldn’t fathom a moment for the thought that maybe this wasn’t the best place, or time, or moment.

The only thing he could do, was hold on, unyielding, as he finally fused his lips to his Angel’s.


	8. Huit

The feeling of Cas melting against him was one Dean would not forget for a very long time.

They held tight to one another, Dean fisting his hands into Cas’ hair, Cas grabbing at his waist to drag him closer, the feel of Cas willingly opening his mouth to Dean’s persistent lips, their tongues dragging together; Dean felt something slide perfectly into place.

It was Dean who broke away, Cas chasing his mouth as soon as he felt him begin to shift backwards. Dean held the determined Angel at bay - he needed to breathe.

Even with the minimal space and a moment of air Cas didn’t show any intentions of unwinding his arms from where they’d slotted across Dean’s back, and Dean had no desire for him to.

Dean sighed deeply, watching Cas’ eyes flicker over his face, he brushed the tips of his fingers gently down Cas’ neck and took pleasure from the way Cas instinctively leaned into the touch.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed at you,” Dean said firmly, even as he leaned forward and pressed a chaste peck to Cas’ full lips.

Cas nodded against him, “I understand, Dean.”

“Do you?” Dean asked sceptically.

Cas raised his eyes, “Yes, Dean.” Cas brought his hands around to rest them against Dean’s chest, “I have made mistakes.” Dean scoffed. “A _lot_ of mistakes. But I know that you are what is right. I have always known that.”

“Really?” Dean raised an eyebrow, “Funny way of showing it,” he mumbled.

Cas leaned forward to seal his lips back over Dean’s, languidly working them to be pliant underneath his own. “I will find a way to redeem myself to you Dean. Somehow. I promise.”

Dean gave him a small smile, “I know you will, Cas.”

Dean shifted his head down and followed the path he’d traced previously with his fingers now with his mouth, sucking against his pulse point. Cas sighed contently, tipping his head back to give Dean greater access to his neck. Dean smirked into his skin, nipping his way slowly up towards Cas’ ear, feeling Cas’ body shake against his own at the new sensations.

“This okay Cas?” Dean whispered slyly into his ear when he reached it.

Cas could do nothing but nod with the little poise he had left, as Dean bit gently at the lobe near his teeth. Cas gasped at the sensation, yanking Dean’s head up from where he was nuzzling and slammed their lips back together.

Cas took control this time. Moving Dean’s head to the position that suited him best, he licked into his mouth, searching every crevice he could reach hungrily. Dean wound his arms underneath Cas’ coat, twining them around a waist that wasn’t too much slimmer than his own. 

Dean was surprised, to say the least, when he felt Cas’ hands gripping at his thighs and his back, strong enough to lift him up. Dean moved his arms up to clasp around Cas’ neck, as Cas moved his legs to secure him around Cas’ waist. Dean looked down into sparkling blue eyes, an unusual smirk playing around Cas’ mouth as he walked the two of them backwards. Dean hid his sound of surprise when Cas dumped him neatly onto the hood of the Impala.

Dean didn’t unhook his limbs from Cas, instead using the advantage to draw the Angel in closer to stand between his legs, Cas continuing to ravage his mouth.

When Dean grew bold enough, confident that Cas wasn’t about to renege on this decision and disappear, he ran his hands firmly up Cas’ chest, reaching his collar and pushed the trench coat off his shoulders.

Cas pulled his mouth away just far enough so he could properly pronounce words, at the feeling of Dean beginning to disrobe him, “Dean?” Cas asked questioningly, “We are outside.”

Dean chuckled, “Its dark, Cas. No one can see us.”

Cas glanced around fervently as Dean began mouthing at his jaw, soon becoming distracted enough by Dean’s movements that he was sure there could be an entire parade of people watching them and he wouldn’t have spared them a thought.

Cas didn’t voice anymore complaints as Dean continued to undress him. Slowly working open the buttons on Cas’ shirt, pulling it roughly from his shoulders once he was done and throwing it aside.

Dean took his time, running his hands over the entire expanse of Cas’ chest, his arms, his strong abdomen. Dean made certain that he ran his tongue precisely over an identical path. Pulling Cas close enough so he could reach everywhere he wanted to. Dean took pride when Cas’ legs grew shaky, as he gently sucked one of Cas’ nipples into a hard nub.

Dean pulled back so he could admire the sight in his arms.

Cas looked completely debauched, his hair standing on end, his cheeks tinted pink, eyes sparkling brightly, tracks from Dean’s mouth lining his chest clearly and a prominent bulge swelling at the front of his trousers. Dean grinned up at him, chuckling when Cas bent down to seal their lips back together.

Dean helped when Cas started tugging at his jacket and t-shirt, assisting the Angel in dragging the garments off. Cas was resolute at replicating Dean’s actions. He traced his hands firmly over the strong planes of Dean’s front, savouring the way Dean’s muscles shifted underneath the grip of his hands as he lay him down on the hood. He followed the trail with his lips soon after, sucking what would no doubt become a line of bruises along Dean’s collarbone.

Cas hoisted himself up onto the Impala, straddling Dean’s thighs; Dean gripped at him instinctively to make sure he didn’t slide back off, even though that was a very doubtful possibility.

Cas noticeably paused as he gazed down at Dean beneath him. HisDean, willingly laid out for him. Dean stretched up to him when he remained unmoving, dragging him down gently so that, had Cas not been bracing himself up on his arms, they would be lying completely on top of one another.

“Everything ok, Cas?” Dean asked softly, pressing a closed mouth kiss to the corner of Cas’ parted lips, then another to his cheek.

Cas nodded, “You are perfect Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted, “Shut up, Cas.”

As retaliation Cas lowered his hips down directly onto Deans, grinding their erections together, and Dean moaned loudly. He reached down to the waistband of Cas’ pants, running his fingers all the way around the band till his hands rested above Cas’ belt. Dean unhooked the leather swiftly, whipping the strap out of its loops and tossing it aside with all their other unwanted items.

With Cas’ trousers sitting looser on his sharp hip bones, Dean slipped his hands underneath the material at the back, resting his hands firmly over Cas’ ass, squeezing, and pressing Cas down into him again.

Cas groaned wretchedly, attempting to thrust his hips rhythmically, wanting friction against his hard cock, but being inhibited by Dean’s strong hands which were holding him in place.

Dean smirked up at him as Cas glared down, “Dean,” Cas said warningly.

“Yeah Cas?” Dean responded innocently.

Cas growled low in his throat at the smug look on Dean’s face. The Angel didn’t so much as snap his fingers before Dean felt the cool night air hitting the entirety of his naked body, Cas still seated on top of him but now just as exposed. Cas moved their hips together, skin on skin, and Dean couldn’t hold back his groan at the sudden contact.

Damn Cas’ mojo. Dean really hoped he hadn’t vanished their pants permanently since they would at some point be needing them again.

Cas grinned at his small triumph. His bright eyes sparkling with mirth as he gazed down at Dean’s completely bare body. The delight in his eyes soon turning back into lust, his pupils darkening at the sight he had created.

Cas kissed his way back down Dean’s body, going much lower than he had before. He pulled back briefly, spreading Dean’s legs, and shuffling to sit in between them instead of on top of them.

Dean looked down at Cas questioningly, but Cas didn’t give him anything but a small smile before leaning back down.

The sudden feeling of Cas’ tongue running down past his balls had Dean yelling out in surprise. Cas didn’t berate him for the sound, instead moving Dean’s feet to sit flat against the hood and allowing Cas more access to where he wanted to be.

Dean’s breathing started coming in sharp pants as he felt Cas probe further around with his nimble tongue. And he had to screw his eyes shut as he felt Cas finally arrive at where he wanted to be, probing gently at Dean’s clenching hole until his tongue slipped past the first ring of muscles and inside him.

Dean’s hips lifted off the car at the feeling and Cas had to hold him down to keep him still. One hand wrapping firmly around his thigh, the other seeking Dean’s own fingers and binding them steadfastly together.

Dean couldn’t have formed words even if he had wanted to. The feeling of Cas’ prodding tongue moving smoothly in and out of him, the feel of Cas slicking him up with his mouth, opening him slowly, was sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through his body.

When Cas pulled away, Dean couldn’t help but groan in disappointment, “Where in all of God’s creation, Cas, did you learn how to do that?”

Cas smiled, leaning up to press his lips to Dean’s once more, Dean tasting the heady scent of himself in Cas’ mouth. “I have watched the whole of humanity’s creation, Dean. I rebuilt  _your_ entire body and soul. You don’t think I know what you like?”

Cas wrapped his hand around Dean’s stiff cock. Dean moaning at the final contact, his head thumping back heavily against the windshield.

“You don’t think I know how to make you writhe, Dean? How to make you scream? Do you really believe there is anyone who could ever bring you more pleasure than I can?”

Dean shook his head as best he could, not sure if Cas caught the motion as he continued to pump him slowly, inserting two fingers fluidly where his tongue had been only moments before. Dean couldn’t help but rock himself back onto Cas’ fingers, shoving them deeper inside him, past the knuckle as far as they could go.

Cas was panting just as hard as Dean when he pulled away again, dragging Dean down just that bit closer towards him. Cas eyed Dean closely, searching for the answer he was seeking.

Dean nodded firmly, widening his legs as far as they would go around Cas, and dragging Cas’ hips level with his own.

Cas pushed into Dean slowly, his cock stretching Dean’s already widened passage further, as they began to slide completely together.

“Cas,” Dean managed to breathe out when he felt Cas’ balls rest against his ass,  _“Move.”_

Cas started slow, bracing his arms against the Impala either side of Dean, deliberately dragging in and out of him. The steady movements soon becoming torturous to Dean’s heated body that craved more. Cas picked up his pace soon after, slamming into Dean with such force that had his back inching slowly up the hood of his car, as he yelled in pleasure every few thrusts as Cas hit that sweet spot deep inside him.

Cas sat back, keeping himself joined firmly inside Dean, and pulled the hunter to sit in his lap. Cas continued to rock up into him as Dean ground down, the new angle making it easier for Dean to grasp his own leverage and move just right on Cas’ cock.

Cas pumped Dean slowly with one hand, squeezing the base gently when he needed to and drawing Dean back from the edge when he got to close. Cas’ other hand was twined firmly with one of Dean’s, their fingers sealed together.

Dean had a strong grip on the back of Cas’ head, his fingers clenched into thick hair, keeping Cas’ forehead pressed against his own. They breathed each other’s air as they lost themselves to one another. Revelling at the indescribable sensations flowing through their connected bodies.

Dean’s orgasm tore through him as Cas’ blue eyes locked with his own, Cas’ lips sealing over his, stealing the scream that he wanted to shout to the heavens. Dean’s cum coated Cas’ hand and their stomachs as it pumped from his throbbing cock.

Cas’ own yell of completion was lost to the crevices of Dean’s mouth, as they continued to ravish each other, Cas’ seed coating the inside of Dean’s walls filling Dean with something he didn’t know he’d been missing his entire life.

The two of them stayed curled around one another on the hood of Dean’s car. Neither one having any desire to move from the bliss they had managed to create.

Cas ran his hands lazily up Dean’s sides as his hunter came down from their joined high. Dean had been right, of course, their bond was more than he had given it credit for.

Cas smiled at Dean’s contented sigh, pulling his hunters face towards him and kissing lightly at his still pliant lips. Cas pulled back, Dean’s bright green eyes gazing at him fondly.

Bending forward Cas pressed his lips over the scar starkly burnt into Dean’s shoulder, the mark that claimed Dean to be his and his alone.

Dean shuddered at the feeling; and Cas heard Dean’s soul sing.


	9. Neuf - Épilogue

Dean woke to the soft feeling of a mattress beneath his aching body, the feel of sheets twined around his bare legs and resting lightly over his waist. Which was strange because he distinctly recalled being outside. With Cas. In the scrap yard.

Holy shit! He and Cas had sex on the hood of the Impala!

Dean’s eyes snapped open as he flailed to sit up, only pausing when he noticed an equally naked body as his own, lying contently beside him and watching his every move.

Dean’s panic extinguished itself as he realized he was in the spare room at Bobby’s.

Dean gazed casually down at Cas who was smiling softly up at him. Dean plopped himself back down on the bed, preferring to ignore his momentary floundering, rolling to face Cas and smiled in return, “You know, still a little creepy when you watch me sleep, Cas.”

Cas chuckled, “I don’t care.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, not being able to help it when his grin widened, “Really?”

Cas nodded seriously, “Yes, Dean. Really.”

Dean went to Cas willingly as the Angel drew him in for a soft kiss. Their lips working each other’s open gently.

Cas traced his fingers over Dean’s face after he drew back, lightly outlining his eyes, nose, his cheekbones. Cas’ eyes grew miserable as he continued to gaze at Dean, a lump coming to sit in his throat, and Cas had to look away.

Dean reached for Cas’ hand, bringing it up and pressing his lips to the backs of his knuckles softly. “We’ll fix it, Cas,” Dean said calmly, seeing straight to the heart of Cas’ distress.

Cas gulped down a swell of emotion, “How, Dean? I have ruined so much.”

Dean shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. Not now. We’ll find a way, figure it out, we always do.”

Cas looked back to Dean’s eyes seeing nothing but confidence behind his words. Dean believed they could do this, so maybe they could.

“I don’t deserve this Dean. You. Your forgiveness. None of it.”

Dean’s small smile didn’t falter, “Too bad Cas, you _have_ me. And although I could try, I don’t think I’d quite be able to stay mad at you forever.” Dean squeezed at Cas’ hand reassuringly, “We’ve all made mistakes Cas. Me, Sam, Bobby. Everyone. We’ll work it out.”

Cas didn’t respond, preferring to snuggle down further into the bed, leaning to press his face into the crook between Dean’s neck and his shoulder. Dean wrapped his strong arms around Cas’ back, holding him close.

They’d get through this. Him and his Angel.

-/-/-/-

Jensen was so far past content with just the simple luxury of being able to wake up in the safety and comfort of his own bed, Misha’s body wrapped around his just like it was supposed to be. They’d spent the majority of the night before swapping stories – they both had specific points to tell that definitely stood out, although Misha had to admit that he probably didn’t spend as much time in mortal peril as Jensen did – before moving together like they’d done countless times before.

Misha was pleased Jensen was ok, so much so that he couldn’t fathom the concept into words, settling for the press of his mouth and the neediness of his touches. Jensen could tell that he was also hopeful that he’d been able to do some good for a universe that wasn’t their own. Not that Misha would ever admit to something as troublesome as meddling.

Limbs were still wrapped firmly around each other, tight enough that it was hard to decipher where one body ended and the other began.

“I don’t think you understand how much I’m never letting you go again,” Misha spoke into Jensen’s shoulder, clutching at his back.

Jensen chuckled, his breath moving the dark tufts of hair under his nose, “You weren’t that worried.”

“Never. Letting. Go.” Misha interspersed the words with presses of his open mouth to whatever part of his husband he could reach.

“I was safe. I told you, Cas was – Cas was very sufficient at keeping us out of harm’s way.”

“At the same time as terrifying you.”

“You would have been scared too,” Jensen poked playfully at Misha’s side. “Seriously – just- surreal, you know?”

“I told you before. I know.”

It took some effort for Jensen to be capable of extracting himself from Misha’s clinging hold, but he managed, smiling to Misha happily as he pressed their mouths together, “I’ll make breakfast.”

Misha followed down the stairs after he grew cold enough to be uncomfortable, dragging a pair of boxers up over his hips as he went.

Jensen began speaking absentmindedly when he heard Misha enter the kitchen. Going over for what had to be the hundredth time how he thought he’d literally gone insane and every miraculous thing that happened after that point. Misha plucked the coffee cup Jensen was holding out of his hands with ease, sipping at the warm liquid before squinting his eyes, “At some point, I am going to need to stop hearing about how awesomely terrifying Cas was.”

“You cannot complain, seriously – you fucked Dean. It’s not like I did -”

“You would have too, don’t deny it.”

“Shut up,” Jensen strode into the lounge, reclaiming his coffee as Misha followed closely on his heels.

“How about we just don’t talk about it anymore,” Misha suggested.

Both men plopped themselves at opposite ends of the couch, arms folded over chests and frowns dipping along their foreheads. It didn’t take long for Misha to be chuckling softly and Jensen couldn’t help the smile that was so determined to grace his lips in return. Jensen slid along the couch till he was closely pressed against Misha’s side, arms twisting out to wrap around his waist and a sigh of contentment falling past his lips as he felt Misha’s mouth press against the top of his head.

“Suppose we’ve got it easy when you think about it,” Misha murmured softly.

Jensen snorted lightly, “We went through our crap too Mish.”

“There _was_ less fighting for our lives.”

“I don’t know, you’ve come up with some pretty crazy shit.”

“Shut up,” Misha huffed a laugh.

“It’s an experience we don’t need to repeat.”

Misha was silent for a few beats, tracing his fingers along Jensen’s side and drawing him closer when he shifted. “I don’t know. I could think of one or two more possible circumstances that would be worth crossing dimensions for.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“Just, whatever you’re thinking. Just, no.” Jensen said with a laugh, his eyes sparkling as he glanced up to the blue gaze above him.

“Come on Jen.”

“No way. Not budging.”

They were both chuckling as Misha tackled his husband back against the soft cushions. The sounds falling from their mouths soon becoming muffled as their tongues tangled around one another. Misha was still grinning as he pulled back, successfully seeking the spark of life in Jensen’s gaze.

He figured he had pretty good chances – maybe he’d be able to convince Jen of just one more adventure.

-/-/-/-

Dean spoke to both Bobby and Sam thoroughly before telling them that Cas was here to stay and that Dean would be helping to fix whatever had been broken.

Both Sam and Bobby shot each other knowing looks, which Dean pointedly ignored, before they agreed to help in whatever way they could.

It took some time, heavy loads of research on ancient weapons, help from numerous Angels who thought that Cas stood for the right thing, and a hell of a lot of luck. But somehow, miraculously, they had caused Raphael to desist.

The Arch Angel had vanished, leaving not even a trail of traitorous Angel corpses in his wake.

Dean knew that he’d probably reappear one day. That they still needed to be prepared for when that day came. But for now they had other problems to attend to.

There were monsters out there still trying to crack open Purgatory.

Crowley seemed more hell bent on the idea than ever since Cas had reneged on all their deals and left the demon out to dry. Crowley was shaping up to be the next big issue, they all knew it, but he could at least wait for one more day.

Dean just wanted one day without research, or planning, or hunting. He just wanted one day for himself and Cas. Where they could spend their entire time not moving from the bed, taking it in turns to fuck into one another. Someplace without interruption where they could talk about random meaningless crap until they grew tired of it. One day where he could just enjoy the idea of him and Cas, his Angel, together, finally.

What they had wasn’t perfect. Probably because this wasn’t yet an ending.

Although it certainly wasn’t their beginning, that had taken place years ago now, when Cas first laid his grace to Dean’s soul in the darkness of Hell.

This was just a step in the right direction. A step spurred on by an eccentric man with an enthusiasm for life that couldn’t be topped, no matter what universe he was interacting with.

Who knew where their story would eventually lead, but as long as it was the two of them, with Sam and Bobby helping along the way of course, it couldn’t end in the  _wrong_ place.

This was merely the middle of their story. And it was enough.

-/-/-/-

 Fin.


End file.
